Anniversary Waltz
by emn1936
Summary: One year prior, the Enterprise had shipped out for its first mission under the official command of James T. Kirk and the young captain had deemed it a day worthy of recognition
1. Chapter 1

Title: Anniversary Waltz

Rating: PG-13

Warning: Rating likely to go up to R in ensuing chapters

Characters/Pairing: Kirk/Uhura

Disclaimer: Characters and canon belong to Paramount, Roddenberry, Abrams and many others but not me. All rights reserved. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is made by the author.

Summary: One year prior, the _Enterprise_ had shipped out for its first mission under the _official_ command of James T. Kirk and the young captain had deemed it a day worthy of recognition

Chapter One

Anniversaries come and they go.

Solemn speeches, music and tributes marked the one year commemoration of the destruction of Vulcan and the decimation of much of the Fleet's ships as well as a horrifically large number of its officers and cadets in the wake of the terror visited upon the Federation by Nero.

The _Enterprise _had been ordered back to Earth for the occasion. It was not lost on Starfleet that the crew's collective youth and strength of purpose – led by their golden, charismatic captain – could serve as walking, talking reminders of the resilience of the spirit of the Federation and they showed an uncommon grace at being paraded before the cameras as living symbols of hope at a time when all the grief and pain of the massive losses suffered came roaring back to life.

Three months later a different anniversary was being observed and this time it was a celebration. For one year prior, the _Enterprise_ had shipped out for its first mission under the _official_ command of James T. Kirk and the young captain had deemed it a day worthy of recognition.

Though he and most of the ship's senior officers had reported for extended duty, all other departments were staffed by rotating skeleton crews – each shift of short duration – allowing for all crew members to participate in the celebrations taking place on the observation decks and in the social rooms and mess halls. Kirk and other members of the senior staff made brief, token appearances throughout the day's celebrations between their duties. And when their duty shift came to an end, Kirk and his officers had made their way to the main observation deck to actively join in the celebration.

Now, hours later, Nyota Uhura left the party which was winding down and made her way along Deck D towards the captain's quarters. The pneumatic doors opened with a near silent swoosh to admit her and she took a moment to gaze fondly at its occupants before making her presence known.

Spock stood in one corner of the room conversing with an animated Scotty. The chief engineer was waving around a glass of some liquid and his voice rose and fell excitedly. In contrast, Spock stood with quiet attention, hands folded neatly at the small of his back. One who didn't know him well would think him uncomfortable, but Uhura could see by the looseness of his shoulders and the tilt of his head that he was relaxed and enjoying his exchange with the other man. He glanced her way and she flashed him a smile, grateful they could enjoy a lasting friendship despite the end of their fleeting romance shortly before the _Enterprise_ had shipped out.

She made her way across the room to where Sulu and Chekov were bent over a small table intent on the game they were playing. She watched their play carefully and then leaning forward, she whispered something in the young navigator's ear. She had already turned away when she heard Sulu's mock-indignant howl as Chekov moved one of his white stones into place to effectively surround and capture one of the helmsman's black stones.

She shared a laugh with McCoy who had been watching her and dropped onto the sofa alongside him.

"Leonard," she said with a cheery grin.

"Nyota." He tipped his head towards her and met her smile with his own.

"We were beginning to think you weren't coming." The sound of the captain's lazily drawled words drifted toward her and she turned her head to greet the final occupant of the room. Though everyone else was still dressed in the attire they had worn to the celebration, it was obvious that Kirk had immediately opted for more comfortable clothing upon returning to his quarters.

An oft-washed t-shirt bearing the faded logo of the Planetary Baseball League was stretched across his broad chest, its once bright red color now softened to the hue of the old brick which could be found in the historic buildings still standing on Earth. Bare feet, propped on the edge of a low table peeped from beneath the frayed hems of jeans worn white at the seams. It was obvious that here – among the family he had created for himself among the stars – he felt comfortable enough to truly relax.

"Get you a drink?" he asked.

"Yes, please." Like the others in the room, she had nursed a drink or two all evening at the celebration but now she was ready to let her hair down a bit.

"What'll you have?" Kirk pushed to his feet.

"What have you got there?" She eyed the glass dangling loosely from his fingertips.

"A gift from Scotty." He rattled the ice against the sides of the glass. "The finest Scotch whiskey known tae man," he said in fair imitation of the engineer's lilting burr. "I am, however, a never-ending source of disappointment to him for drinking it on the rocks," he finished in his own voice.

She laughed and made a face. "What are my other options?"

"Well the good doctor is drinking Kentucky bourbon. Spock, of course, is abstaining. Sulu is drinking some very fine tequila and since it _is_ a celebration, the doctor and I have consented to allow our young navigator a single glass of vodka."

Chekov turned in his seat and raised his glass high in salute. "_Pej do dna_," he beamed.

"_Za zdorovie_," Kirk replied as he drained his glass in response. Returning his attention to Uhura, he awaited her order.1

"I'll have the tequila," she decided.

"A fine choice." He wandered across the room to his desk which was serving as a makeshift bar, filled a tumbler with the pale gold liquid of her choice and refilled his own glass in the process.

Returning, he handed the drink to her. "Cheers." He tapped his glass against hers before flopping back into his seat. Slouching, he studied her and the doctor with blue eyes alert despite the languor of his posture.

"Anyone feel like a game of poker?" he asked at last. A few of the others readily agreed and gathered around a table.

"Y'all cheat," McCoy drawled, abstaining from the game.

"Of course," Kirk replied blithely as he rapidly shuffled a deck of cards. "It's more fun that way."

Spock too chose not to participate, though like the doctor, he took a seat at the table and the carefully modulated tone of his many remarks throughout the game drew smiles and outright chuckles from the players as his wry observances were intended to do.

Fickle fortune danced from one player to the next and though they played for chips only and not for credits, a great deal of moaning, groaning and good-natured insults accompanied the course of play. Drinks were poured with generous hands and with them the hilarity grew.

"It's a good thing none of us are on duty tomorrow," McCoy groused into his drink.

Shielding his cards against his chest, Kirk leaned back comfortably in his chair and tipped his head back to study the ceiling. "We worked hard today so that everyone else could have most of it free," he observed. "We're due."

"Here, here!" Scotty concurred as he folded and dropped out of the game. Sulu quickly followed suit. Abandoning poker, Kirk, Uhura and Chekov entered into a raucous game of slapjack.

"How about a new game?" Kirk asked at last. "Anyone ever hear of 'Fizzbin'?"

"_Nyet_," Chekov said. "What is 'Fizzbin'?"

Familiar with the ridiculous game, McCoy rolled his eyes. "Well, kids," he said as if he were decades older than they. "It's late." He stood and stretched. "I'm for bed."

Scotty and Sulu both rose.

"Aye," Scotty said. "I'll walk out with you."

"I don't want to hear about you mucking around in Engineering tomorrow, Mr. Scott," Kirk called out as he shuffled cards. "You're off duty."

The Scotsman frowned. "But…" He subsided beneath the arch look thrown his way by his captain. "Well, I do have a new technical manual I've been wantin' tae read." He brightened at the thought.

Sulu laughed and reached out to pull Chekov to his feet. "Come on, buddy." He smiled fondly at the tipsy-eyed look the young man gave him for he knew that the chief engineer had more than once steadily and stealthily prevented the navigator's glass from going empty that evening. "I'll walk you to your quarters."

Chekov staggered to his feet and gave everyone a blindingly cheerful smile.

"Good night," he chirped happily as he was led from the room.

"He's going to have a headache tomorrow," Uhura observed.

"And then there were three." Kirk smiled. "Mr. Spock? Interested in a game?"

Spock rose with characteristic grace. "I am afraid not, sir – Jim," he amended quickly at the captain's disapproving grunt. "I too am ready to… 'call it an evening'," he said, supplying the colloquialism readily.

"Fine, fine." Jim waved a dismissive hand. "Go." He shooed the Vulcan from the room and peered across the table at Nyota. "I assume you'll be abandoning me as well," he observed with a hangdog look.

She glanced into her nearly empty glass and knocked back its contents.

"Not if you give me a refill."

Kirk laughed and rose. "Deal!" Grabbing the bottle of tequila from the bar, he swept up the deck of cards in his other hand. "Let's go over here." Crossing the room, he flopped onto the carpeted floor and braced his back against the sofa.

"Don't forget to bring the glasses," he called out as he resumed shuffling the cards.

Uhura shook her head, wondering exactly what had possessed her to stay. But she obediently picked up their glasses and followed him. Settling onto the floor across from him, she fussed with her skirt until her legs were as modestly covered as possible. She glanced up to find her captain studiously studying a piece of art on the wall above her head while he continued to shuffle the cards but the slight quirk at the corner of his lips told her that he had likely snuck a peek at her legs before she had covered them.

"What are the rules?" she asked with a long-suffering sigh.

"First things, first." He uncapped the bottle and poured a measure of tequila into both their glasses.

"Of course. We must observe the niceties."

He smiled. "Fizzbin can be a little complicated so pay attention. It's better with more players but we'll make it work."

"Let's play."

"Okay," he said. "Everyone gets six cards – except for the player to the right of the dealer who gets seven." He patted the carpet next to him and gave her an expectant look. She grumbled under her breath and shifted into place.

"Now." He lifted his glass to his lips and took a drink. "Everyone gets six cards," he repeated as he began to deal. "And since you're seated to my right, you get an extra card." He looked up to make sure she was following him. "You turn the second card up, but not tonight."

"Why not?"

"Because it's Tuesday," he said matter-of-factly and took another sip of tequila.

She gave him a perplexed look.

"What does the day of the week have to do with anything?" she asked.

He breathed out a sigh that was long on patience. "Look. I don't make the rules," he said. "All I know is that you just don't turn the second card up on a Tuesday."

She reached for her own glass and drained half of it in one long gulp. "Let's just play and you can explain as we go."

"Sounds good."

He dealt a few more cards. "Wow!" he exclaimed. "You've got two jacks!"

She poured more tequila into their glasses and took another sip. "Is that good?"

"It's great!" he crowed. "You've got a half fizzbin already!" He held his hand up and she obligingly slapped her own palm to his in a time-honored high five.

"So, I need another jack?" she guessed as she waited for him to deal the next card.

He sat back and shot her a horrified look over the rim of his glass. "No! A third jack is a shralk."

"A shr… schla…" Her tongue thick with tequila, she stumbled over the unfamiliar word. "A what?"

"A shralk," he told her. "You'd be disqualified."

She narrowed her eyes at him and gestured for him to continue.

"What you want," he told her as he dealt out the next two cards, "is a king and a deuce."

"A king and a deuce," she repeated obediently.

"Right. But not at night," he amended.

She cradled her glass in one hand and tapped the nails of the other against it. Pursing her lips, she gave him a suspicious look.

"You're making this up as you go along," she accused.

A grin quivered at the edges of his mouth but he shook his head.

"At night you want a queen and a four."

"Why?"

"Who knows?"

"I would think that you should know since you are clearly just winging this whole game."

"Lieutenant!" He laid a hand over his heart, feigning insult. "I cannot believe you even think that."

She grinned at him good-naturedly. "All right. It's night-time so I want a queen and a four. What if a get a king?"

"Well…" He took another sip, allowing the tequila to roll smoothly over his tongue. "You get another card. Unless it's dark. Then you have to give it back."

She sniggered into her glass and drained it.

"How do I win?"

"You need a royal fizzbin."

"A royal…"

"Yes." He splashed a little more tequila into her glass.

"And then I win?"

"Yes."

"Okay. How do I do that?"

"Well, you… honestly I've never actually seen it happen."

"You've never seen a royal fizzbin?"

He shook his head and his face took on a mournful expression. "I've heard of it, of course," he assured her gravely. "But the odds of someone getting a royal fizzbin are… Well, I'd have to ask Spock what the calculations are, but believe me. They're astronomical." He stretched his arms out to either side of his body to indicate the vastness of the unlikelihood of anyone ever achieving the goal.

She stared at him, taking note of the carefully innocent expression on his face and the unholy glee shining in his eyes and tossed her cards down.

"I give!" She laughed and flopped onto her back. "This is a ridiculous game."

He smiled and leaned more comfortably against the sofa. "I guess it's an acquired taste."

She snorted and rolled her head against the carpet to look at him. Raising her head, she slurped a little tequila from her glass. "No more for me after this," she told him as she held her half full glass up for him to see. He nodded in agreement.

"Last one." He held out his pinky and they locked fingers in the age-old childhood pledge.

They sipped in companionable silence for a moment until he spoke again.

"So." He waggled his eyebrows at her wolfishly, drawing another snicker from her. "Alone at last."

"Oh boy."

"Come on, Uhura. After all this time – after everything we've been through – you can admit it."

"Admit what?"

"That I was getting to you in that bar in Riverside when we first met."

Despite her best efforts, her lips quivered into a smile and she pressed her fingers against them, forcing them into submission.

"You wish." She adopted a bored tone.

He gave her his most charming smile. "You and I both know that I was making headway. If it hadn't been for Cupcake and his buddies –"

"You mean your Chief of Security?" she interrupted with a raised brow.

"You're right. I'm sorry," he apologized. "If it wasn't for Lieutenant Cupcake –"

She burst out laughing. "Stop," she gasped.

He stretched out next to her and propped himself up on one elbow.

"It was when I said you had a talented tongue, wasn't it?" he pressed with a suggestive smile.

She shook her head. "Nope."

"You were softening. Come on. Admit it," he coaxed.

"Okay, fine," she cried out in mock capitulation. "It was when I realized that you knew what Xenolinguistics is," she purred, her sultry look ruined by the merriment dancing in her dark eyes.

"Morphology," he said in a low voice.

"More," she cried out with a fake shudder, drawing a delighted grin from him.

"Phrenology," he breathed and gave her an exaggerated leer.

She laughed again. "More please" she breathed between giggles.

He leaned close. "Synnnnntax," he sighed against her ear before collapsing onto the carpet with laughter. She clapped a hand over her mouth and a muffled snort escaped sending them both into further gales of merriment. She rolled over onto her stomach and pounded her open palm against the carpet.

"Stop," she gasped. "Stop."

They grinned fondly at one another and eventually got control over their laughter.

"So." She pushed herself up onto her elbows. "I'll bet you had a different cheesy pick-up line ready for every woman you ever met."

He gave her a sidelong glance and a regal nod. "Like any other self-respecting pickup artist."

She took a tiny sip from her glass. "Tell me."

"What? You want me to tell you my pickup lines?"

"Yes."

"Why would I waste them on you?"

"Come on," she insisted. "I want to know. Don't hold back. Give me your best stuff."

He shook his head gravely and executing a half sit-up, took a drink from his own glass. "I don't think so," he said holding his half curled position for a moment.

"Why not?"

"I'm afraid."

"Afraid," she repeated. "Of what?"

"I'm afraid my best stuff might be too much for you." He flopped back down onto the floor.

"Too much for me," she scoffed.

He gave her a pitying look. "Yeah. I mean… in the right hands –"

She laughed. "You mean _in your hands_."

He shrugged. "It's pretty powerful stuff," he warned.

"I can take it."

"I don't know," he grimaced. "Like I said, it's pretty –"

"Powerful," she parroted.

He nodded and shot her a look of deep concern.

"Potent," he clarified.

She hid her smile behind her hand.

"Let's just try one and if I'm overcome…"

He gave her a thoughtful look. "You'll tell me?"

"If I'm overcome?"

"Overcome, overwrought, overwhelmed. Take your pick."

She held up her right hand as if swearing an oath. "I promise," she pledged.

"Oookkkay." He tapped a thoughtful finger against his lips. "Let's see." He lay on his back – his lips moving silently – nodding, shrugging, shaking his head as if considering and rejecting line after line and she smiled into her drink at his playfulness.

"I've got one," he said at last.

"Finally!"

"Are you ready?"

She closed her eyes and smoothed her hands over her hair. Straightening her legs, she folded her hands demurely over her stomach. She drew in a deep, bracing breath and opened her eyes.

"Ready," she said as she looked at him.

He nodded and gave her a look of mock solemnity.

"Okay. Here it comes. Brace yourself." He cleared his throat. "Baby, somebody better call God, 'cause He's missing an angel."

He paused, allowing a beat or two to pass. "Are you okay?" The concerned look her gave her was nearly ruined by the quivering of his lips as he ruthlessly suppressed a smile.

"Mmm-hmmm," she choked. "I'm good."

"Didn't work?" He feigned shock.

"Maybe you should try another," she suggested helpfully.

"Hmmm. You're tougher than you look." He drew in a deep breath. "Here goes. Get ready. You must be a thief. Because you just stole my heart."

A snicker of laughter trembled past her lips. She peered up at him to see that his eyes were alight with merriment confirming to her that he was just randomly choosing from every bad pickup line he had ever heard to entertain her.

"How about this one?" He scooted across the floor. The warmth of his breath wafted across her ear and she felt a tingle race down her spine and with it a split-second of worry.

"What time is it?" he suddenly asked.

Surprised, she glanced at the timepiece strapped to her wrist.

"It's 23:55." She blinked at the lateness of the hour.

"Thanks," he replied. "I just wanted to remember the exact time I met you."

Her gaze whipped to his, a startled expression on her face before a shout of laughter escaped her. The line was all the funnier when she realized that he had spoken it in the language of the Kriosians.

"Oh my God." She wrapped her arms around her waist as if in pain. She glanced up to see that he was similarly stricken, his face contorted with laughter as he rolled back and forth on the carpeted floor.

At last she was able to gather herself and looking up, she said, "Another."

"This is going to be my best one," he warned.

"I'm ready."

"Dozens of women have succumbed to it before you," he told her. "Dozens."

"Tens of dozens," she guessed with a smirk.

"At least."

He levered himself up and reached for her hands. "You better sit up for this one."

She rolled into a sitting position and folded her hands in her lap.

"Ready."

"This has _never_ failed," he told her.

"I understand."

"I don't know if you really do," he said with a falsely worried expression. "You're most likely going to want to jump me after you hear it."

She choked back a laugh. "I promise, I will not hold you accountable. It's on my head."

"All right." He rolled his head back and forth, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his hands out to his sides. "Here we go."

"If you were a phaser, you'd be set on stun."

She shrieked and doubled over with laughter, her forehead pressed against his knee. The sultry tone of his voice had been ruined by the guttural grunts of the Klingonese in which he had spoken.

"D'ya get it?" he asked in his normal voice between gasps of hilarity. "Because you're stunning."

They whooped with laughter, tears running down their faces. Long moments passed, for as one would regain some measure of control, the muffled giggles from the other would set them off in fresh gales of laughter.

At last their merriment leveled off until only the occasional snicker slipped past their lips. Uhura rubbed her hands against her cheeks which ached.

"Oh God," she sighed at last. She lay back and stared at the ceiling, concentrating on bringing her breathing back under control. When she finally recovered, she turned to look at him.

"You've never actually used any of those lines, have you?" she asked.

He gave her an enigmatic look.

She stared at him – the tousled blond hair and the long, rangy body – and she admitted to herself that he _had_ been making headway with her in that bar in Iowa. He had used a line on her, yes, but it had been a good one and then, as now, his eyes had shone with humor and intelligence. She had just begun to enjoy their banter when he had gotten caught up in the brawl.

She saw the blue of his eyes sharpen suddenly with awareness and she hastily sat up. "I've had too much to drink." She emphatically set her glass aside.

Scraping a hand through her hair, she blew out a long breath. "What else should we talk about?"

An expression of startled delight crossed his face with the realization that she was going to stay.

"Whatever you want to talk about."

And they settled back companionably to talk about everything – and anything.

TBC

(Fizzbin is a deliberately confusing card game invented by Kirk in the TOS episode _A Piece of the Action_)

1 _"Pej do dna" – _"Bottom's up."/ "_Za zdorovie_" _– _"Here's to health."


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Anniversary Waltz (2/3)

Rating: PG-13

Characters/Pairing: Kirk/Uhura

Disclaimer: Characters and canon belong to Paramount, Roddenberry, Abrams and many others but not me. All rights reserved. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is made by the author.

Summary: One year prior, the _Enterprise_ had shipped out for its first mission under the _official_ command of James T. Kirk and the young captain had deemed it a day worthy of recognition

Chapter Two

Maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe, it was the company. But they talked and laughed for hours. He regaled her with tales of the exploits of his misspent youth. The gleam of suspicious amusement in her eyes made it obvious to him that Uhura doubted the truth of some of his stories.

"You did not!"

"I'm very sorry to say that I did."

"How old were you?"

"Ten."

"You stole a car when you were ten?"

"Yes."

"I don't believe you."

"And yet, it's true."

"And you drove it off a cliff?"

Skepticism was laced through her words.

"Technically into the pit of an old quarry, but yeah, basically."

"No!"

"Yes."

"I don't believe you," she said for what had to be the tenth time that evening.

"I did." He laid a hand over his heart. "I swear."

She gave him a look of narrow-eyed mistrust.

"If you drove the car off a cliff, how is it that you're still here?"

"I jumped out at the last second."

"Now I know you're lying," she crowed. "You did not!"

"I did," he insisted with a laugh. "I opened the door and jumped a split second before the car launched over the edge and into the ravine.

She studied his face for a long moment, looking for any sign that he was lying or stretching the truth. But the mischief that had been etched on his face all evening was gone. And though he was smiling, his expression was open and honest.

"Were you hurt?" she asked at length.

He gave a reflexive look at the palms of his hands which tingled with the sense memory of grappling desperately for purchase on the edge of the ravine as rocks and tiny stones tore gashes into his skin.

"I was a little scraped up, but I lived."

He was stretched out comfortably on his back on the carpeted floor. Uhura was sitting next to him. He watched her face closely as she studied his. She usually maintained a great deal of self-control over her expression – in that way she was very like Spock. But she was unguarded tonight and he saw wonder, confusion and concern dance across her features in close succession.

"Why would you do something like that?" Bewilderment was evident in every syllable.

Kirk rolled his head against the carpet. A distant part of his mind noted that she had stripped off her leather boots at some point in the evening. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and the skirt of her dress had hitched up to reveal long shapely legs . His fingers itched to touch the silken skin and he gave his head a firm shake, forcing his attention back on her question.

"I was a deeply unhappy and angry kid," he told her at last. "For most of my life, actually."

She laid her cheek against her knees.

"Why?" she asked again softly though knowing his background it was not difficult to imagine.

His chest rose and fell on a long sigh. "I felt abandoned, I guess," he said. "My father had died before I ever met him. My mother was stationed off planet a lot when I was a kid."

"Who took care of you?"

"She remarried when I was around eight years old," he said. "We lived with her husband, Frank."

"We?"

"My brother, Sam – well, really George, Jr. – but we called him by his middle name, Sam."

"What happened that day to make you steal the car?"

"Frank and Sam didn't get along well," he told her. "I think Frank loved my mother but he was definitely not father material. We made each other miserable except for when my mother was around to smooth things over."

He shrugged. "Anyway, Sam and Frank had gotten into another screaming match that morning and I guess Sam had enough because he stuffed a bunch of things into a bag and told us that he was taking off. Frank was thrilled to see him go."

"He left without you?"

"He just couldn't take it any longer." Kirk defended his brother. "He told me that he knew I'd be okay because I was always doing the right thing. Getting good grades and obeying all of Frank's stupid orders. He said he couldn't be a Kirk in that house and that he was leaving."

He stared toward the ceiling caught up in his memories. "He was right. I was a rule follower back then and because I was, I started washing the car like Frank had ordered earlier that morning." He shook his head back and forth. "But the whole time I was working on it, I kept going over the conversation I had with Sam. And I started wondering what it was to be a Kirk."

He dragged his gaze away from his study of the ceiling and back to her face.

"The car had been one of my Dad's prized possessions. A vintage Corvette. A classic painted a candy apple red with a white vinyl convertible top. And Frank drove it around like he owned the damned thing. I began to think that maybe being a Kirk meant being defiant. Like my father was when he stood up to Nero, keeping his focus fixed on the _Kelvin_ and away from the fleeing shuttlecraft. Or like Sam – walking out of the door at the age of thirteen rather than to take any more crap from our stepfather."

He gave her a smile. "I thought – well, I never knew him, but I'm George Kirk's son too – so I grabbed the keys and decided to take the car out for a joyride. Frank almost busted a gut when he realized what I had done. I can still remember the sound of his voice over the car's audio system screaming at me to bring the car back and describing what kind of trouble I'd be in if I got so much as a scratch on it. I admit that I was pretty scared – so I cut him off and flipped the music on."

Now an almost beatific look came over his face.

"I will never forget the way that car was vibrating – all the growling power of the engine – and the pounding pulse of the music." His eyes were alight with the memory. "I decided to take the roof down, but I guess I was going so fast, the wind ripped it right off and I thought – 'in for a penny.'"

She gave him a quizzical look. "What do you mean?"

"Well, with the roof bouncing around in the dirt behind me, the car had more than a single scratch on it at that point, didn't it? I was already in for a load of trouble so I figured I might as well just have fun while I could," he told her. "I went flying past Sam as he trudged down the road. The look of shock on his face as I blew past him…. oh boy. It felt great to surprise him. I wanted to yell "See? I'm a Kirk too!'"

"So… what? You thought you could impress him even more by driving the car off a cliff?" she asked dubiously.

He laughed. "No. That was never part of the plan. A cop on a hover bike came zooming along and tried to pull me over. But I wasn't ready for the ride to end so I whipped the wheel the other direction and took off."

"You ran from the law?" Disbelief colored her voice.

"I did." His bright laugh rang out with the pulse-pounding memory. "But the road I had pulled onto led to the old quarry and next thing I knew I had smashed through the gates with the cop in hot pursuit. Before I knew it, the edge of the ravine was coming up fast. There wasn't time to stop so I hit the brakes, flung the door open and jumped just as it went sailing over the edge."

"Oh my God! You're lucky you weren't killed!" she exclaimed. "What happened then?"

"I pulled myself to my feet." He left out the part where he had dangled for dangerous seconds over the edge of the ravine. "When the cop asked me for my name, I just remember bellowing out 'My name is James Tiberius Kirk' and deciding then and there – _that feeling_ – must be what it meant to be a Kirk."

"I can't imagine what kind of trouble there was to pay," she murmured with a frown.

He shrugged. "You don't want to know. But I didn't care. What good had all the rule following ever done me? The thrill and exhilaration of that ride stayed with me for a long time. I spent most of the rest of my life trying to recapture that feeling."

"And did you?"

"Yeah. Finally. In the one place I had never thought to look."

"Where?"

"Starfleet," he said with a wry smile. "I had spent years hating Starfleet. I entered the Academy on a dare from Pike and wound up loving it. I realized that most of the poor decisions I had made in my life were rooted in the fact that I was simply bored. Bored in school. Bored with a life stuck on a farm in the middle of nothing – waiting for an absent mother, a missing brother and a long-dead father to come back for me. But at the Academy I finally found myself challenged. My classes were interesting. My instructors were demanding. And when I went into space on my first training mission, I understood what drew my mother away from home time and again. And I understood what drove my father to make the sacrifice he had made."

"You've found a home here," she murmured.

His face lit up. "Yeah. I have."

"I'm glad."

They lapsed into a companionable silence for several long minutes.

"Tell me something else." Uhura broke the quiet.

He grinned. "More stories of my squandered past? My wastrel youth? I'm afraid that what little respect I might have earned from you in this last year will be utterly destroyed after tonight."

Her hip brushed against his ribs as she shifted closer. "Tell me something that isn't a line," she said. "Tell me one more thing. A truth about you that you've never told anyone else."

The laughter faded from his expression. He could see that she was earnest. He thought of and discarded any number of things he could tell her – more stories about stupid pranks and childish antics. Things he had never told anyone, but things that were not, he knew, what she wanted to hear. He looked up and made his confession.

"I have never blown out the candles on a birthday cake."

She made a scoffing noise in her throat. "If you're not going to take me seriously…" She shifted as if to rise and his hand shot out to stop her.

"I am serious."

She stared at him as she tried to gauge his sincerity. The mischief which had danced in his eyes all evening was gone leaving them a quiet blue. She stretched out on the floor next to him and propping herself on one elbow, she rested her head against a loosely fisted hand. In her dark eyes, he saw curiosity mingled with concern.

"I was probably five years old when I realized that I was always given my gifts a few days before or after my birthday," he told her. "When I asked my mother why, she didn't answer, but I remember instant remorse for making her so sad. My brother swatted me on the back of the head and told me that we couldn't have cake and a party on the day that our dad had died."

He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "You know, even though I had heard the story of my birth and how my father had saved my mother and me, I never really connected the two things until that moment."

Tears brightened Uhura's eyes.

"Hey," he protested. "Don't." He reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "I didn't tell you that to make you sad." He gave her a reassuring smile. "I promise – it wasn't some kind of Dickensian childhood," he told her. "There were always birthday gifts and the years when she was home, my mother would cook my favorite meal for me – just like she did for Sam before he left."

He could see censure for his mother's parenting in Uhura's expression.

"I spent a lot of years resenting her," he admitted. "Mostly because she wasn't always around when I wanted her. And when she was around... I don't know. I guess a lot of times she didn't know what to make of me. I gave her a lot of grief growing up."

The defeated expression on his mother's face whenever she was confronted with his misdeeds flashed across his memory.

"It wasn't until I got to the Academy that I finally came to understand her."

"What was it about the Academy that helped you?" she wondered curiously.

"I read Pike's dissertation on the _Kelvin_," he told her. "Suddenly I had access to information I had never had before. I read everything I could get my hands on. Listened to all of the recordings of the transmissions from the shuttles as they escaped the ship and I came across one between my parents."

He spoke softly of the things he had heard. Of the terror in his mother's voice at the realization that her husband would not be joining her in the escape shuttle. Of the chaotic mingling of the sounds of volleys of fire from the _Kelvin_'s phaser turrets and torpedo bays and of the concussion of multiple small explosions on its bridge. Of medical personnel exhorting his mother to push. He spoke of his mother's cries of pain as she labored to bring her child into the universe and of her pleading screams for the child's father. He recalled the _Kelvin_'s computer issuing damage reports and cascading system failures and signaling the impact alert. And of how that cacophony of sounds was layered over the relentless wailing of the _Kelvin_'s red alert klaxon.

He did not see the spasm of horror which distorted her lovely features when he told her that he had listened to the recording multiple times in an effort to understand how those short moments had transformed a life that should have been, into the life that was.

Dragging his gaze away from the ceiling, he chanced looking at Uhura and saw that her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"She watched her husband die," he told her. "And after hearing that recording, hearing the pain in their voices as they said their goodbyes, I realized that at the very moment when my mother should have felt most alive and powerful as a woman, her heart was shattered. I understood then that she had never truly recovered. And I stopped blaming her."

After a prolonged silence, he huffed out a hoarse chuckle. "You got a two-fer," he told her with a wry grimace.

"Pardon?" she asked in a choked voice.

"That's two stories I've never told anyone else." He gave her a reassuring smile. "It's okay," he said. "Everything turned out in the end."

She stretched toward him and touched her lips to his in a gesture of comfort from one human to another.

She surprised him when she kissed him again – this time a kiss of gentle curiosity.

But she surprised herself when she cupped his face in her hand and lowered her mouth to his a third time in a caress that was sweetly lingering.

He pulled away and blinked in a dazed fashion.

"Why did you kiss me?" he asked in a rough voice. "I don't want your pity."

She propped herself up on his chest. "I'm sorry for the things you and your family have suffered," she told him. "But I didn't kiss you because I pity you."

"Then why?" he asked edgily. "Up until tonight, you've never seemed interested."

"Maybe that's because you finally came out from behind the brash persona you like to hide behind. You made me laugh tonight – a lot – and funny is sexy. And you let me see that you have hidden depths – and sensitive is also sexy."

He couldn't hide the grimace that drew his brows together at being described as sensitive and she grinned in response.

"Also, in the spirit of truth-telling I'll confess that I think you look particularly hot tonight."

"Yeah?" He perked up at her admission.

"Mmm-hmm." She gave him a conspirator's smile. "You're an attractive man, Captain."

He tried for a look of modesty and she laughed.

"A fact of which you're well aware," she noted.

"You've managed to resist so far," he pouted.

"I know. But apparently I have no defense against the t-shirt and jeans look."

He levered up slightly to look at his scruffy clothing with new interest.

"Yeah?" he asked doubtfully. Apparently he was missing something.

"Trust me." She swept an appreciative glance over the faded t-shirt stretched across his leanly muscled chest and down length of the jeans which were soft and worn white at the stress points and other interesting places.

"So. I'm hot, huh?"

"Smoking," she sighed with not a little reluctance.

An enormous grin spread across his face and his eyebrows bobbed up and down suggestively. She groaned and laughed.

"I cannot believe I'm feeding your enormous ego."

"You could probably think of a way to shut me up," he suggested slyly.

She gave him a pitying look.

He heaved a much put-upon groan. "Well, far be it from me to deny you your greatest desire." He flung his arms out to his sides, screwed his eyes closed like a toddler and twisted his lips into an exaggerated pucker – a willing sacrificial lamb on the altar of love.

"Sooo sexy," she sighed theatrically as she obediently leaned down to peck her lips to his in a loud, smacking kiss. His eyes popped open and they dissolved into laughter. She ruffled her hand through his thick hair, pleased by the return of a more light-hearted mood.

He skimmed the backs of his knuckles over the curve of her cheekbone and once again she succumbed to the urge to kiss him. Her mouth was a breath away from his when he turned his head and instead traced his lips in a leisurely path over the line of her jaw, his tongue darting out to taste the frantic pulse fluttering in her throat. She shivered and tipped her head to one side and he obliged her open invitation by scraping his teeth over the exposed curve of her neck.

She shifted closer.

"Kiss me." Her groaning words vibrated against his mouth as it traced a heated path over the long column of her throat.

And so he did. He drew her down until she was stretched atop the length of his body. Her hair cascaded forward enveloping them in an ebony waterfall. And in that silken cocoon, he kissed her.

Slowly. Gently. Patiently. He kissed her.

His mouth moved against hers. Tasting. Sipping. Savoring.

His teeth nipped at the plump fullness of her lower lip, his tongue plunging inside to tangle with hers.

She melted against him, sinking into the kiss even as her fingers delved into his hair. She squirmed, trying to get closer and he tore his mouth from hers with a groan.

"God!" he rasped. And burying his face against her throat, he rolled them both, pinning her to the floor with his weight. His hands slid with rough impatience over her ribs, cupping her breasts through the soft material of her dress, skimming across the smooth skin of her thighs as he lay cradled between them. He pressed his hips to hers and her name escaped him on a rough sound of need.

Her head was spinning with want – for him. It was wrong a voice whispered slyly in her head.

His hips bucked against hers, their clothing the only thing keeping them from taking what they wanted. Fire leapt in her belly and she surged against him, dragging his mouth back to hers.

Wrong, the voice whispered again.

The realization of that washed over her like a bucket of cold water and she gasped. Pressing her hands to his shoulders, she tore her mouth from his.

"Stop." She shoved against his shoulders. "Stop."

He reared back, confusion marring his handsome features, and she scrambled out from beneath him.

"What…" He cleared his throat. "What's wrong?" he rasped. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." She jumped to her feet.

"I should go." She smoothed shaking hands over her tangled hair and tugged the hem of her skirt which had become rucked high up on her thighs.

"Wait." He climbed to his feet. "Uhura. Stop." He reached for her hands but she snatched them away and hid them behind her back.

"No. I'm sorry. This was a mistake." She looked around frantically for her boots. _Where were they? _she thought feverishly.

"_Talk to me_," he pleaded. "Come on. Just… stop and talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about." Was that the heel of her boot sticking out from beneath the sofa? She dropped to her knees and dug them out with trembling hands. Standing again, she clutched them protectively against her chest.

"We made a mistake," she told him. "We had too much to drink and we made a mistake." She shook her head and tried to smile. "It's okay though. We came to our senses and stopped in time." She closed her eyes. "It's okay," she whispered as if reassuring herself.

"Tequila makes me stupid," she confessed.

"Don't." She startled at the sound of his angry growl and opened her eyes. "Just… don't." His jaw was rigid with barely contained fury. "You're entitled to change your mind," he said in a tight voice. "But don't lie to me or to yourself."

"I… I don't know what you're –"

"Yes, you do," he snarled. "If you want to change your mind, fine," he said again. "But it's been hours since our last drink," he reminded her. "Don't pretend that that," he stabbed a finger toward the floor where they had been lounging, laughing, loving, "had anything to do with alcohol."

He took a step forward – so close their bodies were almost touching. "We wanted each other, plain and simple."

She hugged her boots more tightly to her chest.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You're right but…"

"But, what?" His voice was soft, all traces of anger gone.

"I don't want to want you," she admitted in a rush.

"Why?"

"For one thing, you're my commanding officer." She pointed out the seemingly obvious.

"Spock outranks you too. Is that why you ended your relationship with him?"

She closed her eyes. "No," she admitted. "We just realized that we probably made better friends than we did lovers."

"Hmm." He paced away from her. "But in our case, my rank _is_ an obstacle."

She stiffened. "I believe a one-night stand with my captain would be a bad idea, yes."

"A one-night… Is that all it has to be?"

"Oh, come on," she scoffed. "Are you honestly saying that you want something more than that?"

"Obviously you find that difficult to believe." He cocked his head to one side. "Why is that?"

"Because you're… you're Jim Kirk!"

"Ahh. I've got a girl in every port, huh?"

She dropped her gaze, unnerved by the trace of hurt in his voice. "You're not exactly known for your lengthy relationships," she mumbled.

"No." He folded his arms across his chest defensively. "But then again, most of the stories about me are exaggerations."

She shot him a look rife with disbelief.

"Even men can be saddled with an unearned reputation," he said mildly.

She said nothing, though her skepticism was plainly expressed on her face.

"I like women." He sat on the arm of the sofa and looked up at her. "I don't pretend otherwise. I like pretty much everything about them."

Uhura barely managed to suppress the unladylike snort which threatened to escape and settled for rolling her eyes instead.

He ignored her.

"But I don't go out with every woman I meet and I don't sleep with every woman I date."

She stared at him in continued silence.

"Come on, Uhura," he sighed. "We've been working together in fairly close quarters for a year now," he pointed out. "How many women have you seen me with?"

"Fine," she muttered grudgingly. "So you've managed to exercise some restraint since taking command. What about at the Academy?"

"What about it?"

"You were constantly surrounded by women. I'm surprised you ever found time to study or attend class."

"I have a lot of friends," he said. "_Most_ people like me."

An awkward silence fell between them.

"I thought _you_ were beginning to like me," he said at last. "Was I misreading things? I don't know… I guess I thought I had started to earn your respect. I thought we were friends. Especially tonight."

He hunched forward and scrubbed his hands over his face. "But maybe you were right." He peeped at her over the tips of his fingers. "Maybe it was just the booze."

She felt an ache in her chest as if an invisible hand had wrapped itself around her heart. "No. I lied. I kissed you because I wanted to. It had nothing to do with tequila."

She loosened her grip on her boots and let them fall to the floor with a dull thud. Gathering her courage she paced toward him, stopping when she was just beyond his reach.

"But I don't understand." She toyed with a lock of her hair, betraying her nervousness. "Why the sudden interest?"

"It's not sudden." His lips twisted in a self-mocking smile. "And if you had been paying an iota of attention these last four years you would know that."

Not knowing what to say in response to his confession, she remained silent.

"Do you want to know why?" he asked softly. "I could tell you you're beautiful."

Her head jerked impatiently.

He shrugged. "It's true. It's certainly what caught my eye in that bar the first time I saw you. But you're also courageous, intelligent, empathetic, fiercely loyal and you have a sarcastic sense of humor which I enjoy."

She shrugged, refusing to yield to an array of pretty compliments. "Qualities I'd dare say that you can find in any number of women," she said in defense of her sex.

"But I think it's mostly your eyes."

"My…"

"Yeah. You have these big, dark, doe-like eyes that reflect your every thought and emotion. Granted I'm used to mostly seeing poorly concealed irritation and exasperation when you look at me. But lately – and especially tonight – I've seen affection… and pleasure."

Though he suspected she was wholly unaware of it, he could see the wariness begin to fade from her eyes, her expression now growing warm and soft and open.

"Do you?" He stretched out and caught the tips of her fingers with his, drawing her closer to his perch on the arm of the sofa. "Do you feel those things when you're with me?"

"You mean irritated affection and exasperated pleasure?" A tiny grin flirted with the edges of her lips.

"Yeah." His body brushed hers as he rose to his feet.

She affixed her gaze on the faded logo on his shirt.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Then, what do you say? Do you want to take a chance with me?"

"And when it ends?" she asked. "Then what? I'll be the one on the losing end, looking for a new post on another starship."

"Never," he vowed. "As long as I'm her captain, you'll always have a place on the _Enterprise_. I promise." He touched two fingers to her chin, tipping her face up to his.

"And why do you automatically assume this will end badly?"

The aforementioned exasperation was plain to read in her eyes.

"You aren't exactly known for your lengthy relationships," she pointed out. "And the one time I tried, well… you know how that ended."

"Yes. In friendship," he countered.

He slowly eased his arms around her, drawing her into a loose embrace and rested his chin on the crown of her head. "I have known since the day I was born that it's foolish for two people to promise to stay together forever. But I can tell you that you are the only woman I've ever met who makes me want to try."

Her breath escaped her on a long, shuddering sigh and she wound her arms around him and nestled her cheek against his broad chest.

"Stay," he whispered into her hair. "Stay with me tonight." He felt her jolt and tightened his arms around her.

"I don't… I should go back…"

"Nothing has to happen," he murmured against her temple. "But I would like it very much if you would stay for what's left of the night." He waited a beat. "Please."

He was sure that he could almost hear the gears in her brain turning and he held his breath in anticipation of her rejection.

"Okay." She tipped her head back to look up at him.

"Yeah?"

She felt warmth spread through her at the sight of the smile that lit up his handsome face.

"Yeah." She noticed then that at some point he had waltzed them across the room so that they were now standing near the divider that separated the living space from his sleeping quarters.

"Just to sleep," she warned.

He raised his arms over his head in an exaggerated stretch and let out a mighty yawn.

"I'm beat," he said. "Sounds good."

She glanced down at her dress. "I don't have anything to wear."

He crossed his arms in front of his body and grasped the hem of his t-shirt with both hands. Raising his arms, he stripped the shirt over his head and held it out. Her breath caught in her throat and she ignored his offering and reached out instead to touch him. His skin was hot and stretched tightly over his muscled torso. She pressed her palms against his pectoral muscles and felt the thudding beat of his heart, the defined ridges of his abdominal muscles and felt the shudder that raced through him as she traced a solitary finger along the path of his oblique to the point where it disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.

"God!" His hand shot out to grab her wrist. "You're going to need to stop that if you don't want this go any further tonight," he warned.

She looked up and he could see heady delight in her own power warring with her instinctive sense of caution. Her hands fell to her sides as caution won and he worked hard to hide his disappointment. Wordlessly, he once again held the shirt out to her. He waited until she had disappeared into the bathroom before letting his head fall against the wall with an audible thud.

"Damn." He rubbed his hands over his face and fought his own battle for self-control. Another shudder wracked his body and he pushed away from the wall, snatching a pair of sleeping pants from the low bureau tucked in one corner of the room and ordered the lights to dim.

He had managed to lock down his desires enough so that was sitting with loose-limbed comfort on one side of the bed when she emerged from the bathroom and he was caught off guard by her appearance. She was so vibrant of nature that he often forgot how petite she was in form. Draped in his t-shirt, he was struck suddenly by her delicacy. The hem of the shirt hung low, hiding more of her legs than the skirt of her uniform and the shoulder seams sagged onto the upper part of her arms. He would have thought her a waif dressed in an adult's clothing were it not for the fact that the worn cotton somehow managed to hide and highlight her body as the soft cloth molded itself to all the right places. And again he felt desire ripple along his spine.

Uhura sucked in a deep breath. Pretending a calm she didn't feel, she crossed the room to slide under the covers he had folded down invitingly. They lay stiffly on their backs and she clutched the blanket to her breasts and squeezed her eyes closed. She was convinced that this was a terrible decision and was wondering frantically how to escape when he shifted onto his side. Aware of his gaze on her, she obliged his unspoken request and rolled to face him.

They stared at one another for a long moment and she waited for him to speak. Instead, he reached down and cupped the back of her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. He drew their joined hands up to his chest and brushed his lips against her forehead.

"Good night," he whispered before ordering the lights off.

She lay in the darkness, listening to the deepening sound of his breathing as he slid into sleep. The lazy beat of his heart beneath her palm and the even rise and fall of his chest lulled her and she shifted closer until, cuddled against his warm, she slept.

TBC

A/N: One more chapter which may – in all likelihood – increase somewhat in rating. Please note.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Anniversary Waltz (3/?)

Rating: R (mature)

Characters/Pairing: Kirk/Uhura

Disclaimer: Characters and canon belong to Paramount, Roddenberry, Abrams and many others but not me. All rights reserved. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is made by the author.

Summary: One year prior, the _Enterprise_ had shipped out for its first mission under the _official_ command of James T. Kirk and the young captain had deemed it a day worthy of recognition

Please note the change in rating on this chapter.

Chapter Three

Jim rose to consciousness the moment she slipped from the bed. He watched through the veil of his lashes as she moved about the room – a wraith drifting quietly through the darkness. When she disappeared into the bathroom, he let out a sigh and rubbed his hands over his face. He debated whether to let her slip from his quarters believing him still asleep or to at least force her to acknowledge him before she darted back to her own room. He was unsurprised to see her emerge from the bath dressed again in her own clothing.

In the end, he let her slip away without forcing a confrontation as he imagined she preferred they simply pretend that last night had not happened. He did not need to look at the time to know that it was very early. Undoubtedly she wanted to be safely in her own quarters before the busiest shift crowded the corridors as they began their day.

"Stupid." He chastised himself for having harbored even the smallest fantasy that they would have spent their off-duty time together.

"Damn it." Despite the early hour and the free day looming ahead of him, he knew that sleep was lost to him now. Ordering the bedside light on low, he pushed himself up against the pillows. Grabbing a PADD from the nightstand, he began to read through the first of many reports queued in his virtual inbox. He pretended the work was distracting him from thoughts of her when in truth, brooding over her was interfering with his work.

"Face it," he muttered aloud. "The lady's not interested."

He punched up a favored playlist of songs and with the music streaming over the room's speakers, forced his attention on the report glowing on the device in his hand.

"That's quite an eclectic playlist you have there."

His head snapped up at the sound of her voice as the wailing guitar of late twenty-first century rock faded and gave way to the quiet lilt of a Vulcan lute.

"Yeah, well…" he said slowly. "I'm a complex guy."

His surprise at finding her leaning against the wall was evident in the wary expression in his eyes and the biting snap of his words.

"You thought I was gone." She pushed away from the wall.

His shoulders twitched in an irritable shrug.

"You _were_ gone," he pointed out in what he thought was an admirably reasonable and steady tone.

"But I came back bearing gifts." She lifted hands burdened with two cups from which steam curled and a small carton.

She crossed the room to stand on the other side of the bed. "I hoped to be back before you woke." She held out one of the cups. "Coffee. Careful, it's hot. I went to the mess," she explained. "It's bad enough that I have to drink the replicator's swill while on duty, but there is no way I'm going to start my day off without the good stuff."

She kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the mattress, folding her legs comfortably and crossing them at the ankles. Popping the lid off her coffee, she drew the fragrant steam deeply into her lungs. Studying him over the top of her cup, she noted the befuddled look on his face and the work scattered across his bed.

"You didn't think I was coming back."

He flushed as his insecurity was revealed and concentrated on removing the lid from his own cup. "I wasn't sure what to think." His eyes widened and flashed up to meet hers as he took the first sip and found the coffee flavored perfectly to his taste.

"You're not the only one who's been paying attention," she murmured in response to his surprised expression. "I know that you take your coffee spiced rather than sweetened. I know a lot of things."

He took another sip, hiding the pleased grin that trembled on his lips with the knowledge that his heightened awareness of her was, in some respect, reciprocated.

She shifted on the bed and toppled a haphazardly piled stack of PADDs.

"Why so many?" She picked one up.

"High priority items," he said, touching one. "Eyes-only communications." He tapped a finger against the one in her hand. "Supply and maintenance requests. Personnel files. This one is for my captain's log. This one is miscellany." He pointed to each device in turn. "My personal log, private communications, music files and other personal entertainment are on this one." He tapped a stylus against the last one on the mattress.

"And this one's filled with the week's departmental reports." He waved the device in his hands and shrugged. "It's not all hot-dogging my way through the galaxy."

"How do you keep it all straight?"

He gave her a blank look as if he had never given it any consideration in the past. "I don't know," he said at last. "I guess, despite evidence to the contrary, I can think logically when necessary. And don't forget. I have a secret weapon."

"What's that?"

"Yeoman Rand."

Uhura laughed as he had intended, then gave him a sympathetic look as her gaze swept over the mountain of work scattered across the mattress.

"No wonder you head up so many away missions."

"Anything to take a break from all this paperwork," he agreed fervently, though of course they both knew that it was more than avoidance of dreaded office work which drove him.

Uhura began to stack the PADDs into a pile and moved them to the nightstand.

"No work on our day off," she decreed as she plucked the final device from his hands and set it down with the others.

He liked the sound of the possessive pronoun falling from her lips as she laid claim to their mutual free time.

"Aye-aye, ma'am." He readily complied with her demand and settled comfortably against the pillow propped behind his back. He took another sip from his cup and let his gaze rake idly over her. She had obviously stopped by her own quarters at some point. Her hair was caught up in its familiar jaunty tail. The dress she had worn last evening had been replaced by tailored jeans in a dark wash and a floral-sprigged blouse unfastened in the front just low enough to be interesting.

His gaze fell on the carton tucked inconspicuously against her hip. "What's in the box?" he asked curiously.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she teased.

"Uh. Yeah, I would." He lunged forward to snatch the object in question but she had anticipated his move and clapped an open palm against his bare chest.

"Uh-uh. Just sit back." She pressed him back against the pillows. Her hand lingered on the satin warmth of his skin and he subsided willingly. She scooted closer until her crossed legs were pressed companionably against his side and lifted the box.

"Close your eyes," she demanded suddenly.

"What?"

"You heard me. Close them!"

"Fiinnne." His huffed sigh was meant to convey exasperated indulgence, but his quick compliance betrayed an eager curiosity.

She threw a fake punch towards his face and when he didn't flinch in reaction, was satisfied that he wasn't peeking. She carefully pried the lid open and lifted the carton in her hands.

"Okay," she said. "You can look."

He opened his eyes to find a huge slice of cake balanced in the carton in her hands, its golden layers sandwiched and covered in a thick coat of chocolate frosting.

"Ta-da," she sang and pushed a single candle into the top of the cake.

"It's not my birthday," he pointed out gruffly.

"So I won't sing," she deadpanned. "Everyone should get the chance to make a wish on a candle at least once," she told him as she touched a flame to the wick.

He studied her face over the tiny flickering light, looking for any sign of much-hated pity. And in searching, he found only an open look of eager expectation. Ridiculously touched, he swallowed hard against the lump which had formed in his throat. Dredging up a smile for her, he drew in an exaggerated breath and pursed his lips.

"Wait!"

He gave her a startled look.

"You have to make a wish first."

He hesitated, hard-pressed to think of anything he could wish for beyond this moment, but dutifully closed his eyes. After a moment's thought, his lashes parted and he extinguished the flame with a puff of air.

"Yayyyy," she sing-songed and plucked the smoking candle from the top of the cake.

"Oh." She clapped her free hand against her forehead. "I forgot forks." She began to unfold her legs to climb from the bed.

Kirk's hand shot out to wrap around her bare ankle.

"We don't need forks." He halted her flight from the bed and tugged her close again. Reaching out, he broke off a small piece of cake and offered it to her. Her heart slammed against the wall of her chest in response. She hesitated, then leaned forward and carefully nipped the morsel into her mouth. Her tongue reflexively darted out to delicately lap a smear of frosting from his thumb and he shuddered in response.

She tasted chocolate – and him – and as desire flared to life, she broke off another piece of cake, holding it out to him. Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he closed his mouth over the cake, drawing her forefinger deeply into his mouth. His tongue swirled around her finger, sucking strongly until she felt every ridge on the roof of his mouth and the strong curl of his tongue beneath and she felt an answering zing arrow through her to pulse between her legs.

He slowly released her and her finger slid from his lips, wet and glistening. Curling it protectively beneath her thumb, she pressed her fist against the nerves flitting in her belly.

His gaze fell to her mouth and he reached out to remove the carton from her hands. He fumbled blindly and tossed it onto the bedside table.

"I want you." His voice was a throaty growl filled with need. "Please." He hooked one finger into the waistband of her jeans and impatiently tugged her toward him.

She resisted for a moment – out of habit. But her craving for him – unleashed for the first time the prior evening – was every bit as powerful as his for her. She shifted, twining her arms around his neck and settled onto his thighs. And she kissed him. A brush of her lips against his forehead, another on the tip of his nose. She scattered kisses across his cheeks – first one, then the other – and lightly caught the tip of his earlobe between her lips, scraping her teeth over the tender flesh.

His hands clenched on her thighs and his head fell back against the headboard with an audible thud.

"You're killing me," he groaned. He cupped her hips in his wide hands and urged her closer.

Her breath was already coming in unsteady pants – in perfect concert with his – as evidence of his desire for her surged to life beneath the soft fabric of his clothing. She pressed her forehead to his, trying to steady herself. A quiet warning sighed in her head. She had resisted his flirtatious advances for years; some part of her having always known that being with him would not be simple.

Uhura liked simple. She craved orderly things. She was a careful, organized soul. And the men she had been with in the past were similarly reserved and tempered.

And she had never, ever, admitted to the dark attraction she had felt for Jim Kirk. She had resented it. Ignored it. Despised it.

He was reckless. Impetuous. Cocky. Cheeky.

And – as she had come to learn – complicated.

But now, here, in this room, alone with him, need pumped through her veins, and she was tired, so very tired of resisting.

It would never be simple with him. Maybe nothing would be simple again.

She was both frightened and exhilarated by the not-knowing. And accepting her fate, she melted into his embrace.

Slowly, his gaze steady on hers, he unfastened each tiny closure that ran down the front of her blouse and pushed the fabric off her shoulders, leaning forward to press hot lips to the fragrant flesh he'd bared.

A shuddering sigh escaped her lips as his mouth traveled from the ball of her shoulder, his tongue leaving a heated trail across her clavicle before he buried his lips against the hollow at the base of her throat where he could feel each frantic flutter of her pulse.

Her hands traveled restlessly over his bare torso, pressing, testing and caressing each clearly defined group of muscles and she was struck again – as she had been the previous evening – by the beauty of his form.

He wanted to tear the clothes from her body, roll her beneath him and bury himself deeply within her. A shudder rolled through his body as he fought against his baser instincts.

He knew now that this was going to happen and he wanted more than just a frantic coupling.

He felt his stomach leap with nerves because always, always in the past fast and furious sex had been enough. But at this moment, with this woman, he wanted more. The idea frightened him, but he could not move beyond it. He would not rush this.

Counseling patience, he ran his knuckles over the curves of her breasts where they swelled over the cups of her bra. His fingers played with the tiny clasp between her breasts as their mouths met in an endless series of deep, wet kisses.

She pulled back, breathing heavily and slowly lifted her hands, unhooking the clasp of her bra and drawing the delicate straps from her shoulders. His gaze drugged with desire, he used the tips of his fingers to brush the soft fabric away from her breasts.

Her hands were braced on his shoulders and he turned his head, brushing his lips over the inside of one wrist.

"Your pulse is pounding," he whispered against her skin.

She leaned forward and laved her tongue along the corded tendon that stood out along his neck.

"So is yours."

His arms wound around her waist and he lowered his mouth to her breast, his tongue curling warm and wet around a nipple. Her fingers clenched in the thick strands of his hair even as she arched, flowing gracefully over his supportive embrace.

Then his fingers were pulling at the snap of her jeans and hers were tearing at the drawstring of his cotton pants. He shoved his hands inside her jeans, pushing her underwear down her legs along with the heavy denim as she cursed the knotted drawstring. A little cry of triumph escaped her as the knot came loose and they peeled the last remaining barrier away together.

They rolled over and he tore at the elastic which bound her hair. He combed his fingers through the ebony silk, spreading it over her shoulders and across the rumpled sheets.

She was a woman who knew her own body, who knew what she liked and didn't. But, oh! How could she have ever known that it could be like this? That she could want so much?

He was a man who knew women – knew how to give them pleasure – but wanted little more from them. How could he have not known that with this woman the physical would not be enough? That he could want so much more?

Her arms and legs curled around him in a four-limbed embrace as his body curved over hers, protective and dominant all at once. She arched, accepting the long, slow slide of invasion and she exhaled – a breathy sigh of satisfaction as he filled her. She saw his eyes, beautiful and blue and felt his hands smooth sweat-dampened hair away from her cheeks.

He moved – and she arched to meet him. His palms met hers, stretching their arms over her head. Their bodies – young and strong – moved together, their gazes locked. She felt a moment's fear, and saw it answered in his eyes. And then they were climbing. Reaching. Falling. And everything else was lost to the glory of the moment.

Her head was spinning and she was unable to move or draw a deep breath. She should have listened to her instincts to avoid him for he had surely killed her, she thought.

He moaned and her next thought was that it was okay for perhaps she had killed him too.

It seemed a fair exchange to her way of thinking.

She dragged open her eyes and realized immediately the cause for her dizziness as her head was dangling off the edge of the bed, her hair streaming down in a dark waterfall to kiss the floor. Kirk was sprawled over her, his weight pinning her to the mattress, his heart still thundering against hers.

He raised his head enough to see the way hers was flopped over the side of the mattress and with a Herculean effort, sat up and dragged her onto the bed, settling her head comfortably on a pillow.

Missing him immediately, she murmured a protest and reached for him. He eagerly complied, covering her again with his body. They drifted contentedly. His head nestled between her breasts he listened to the steady thrum of her heart beneath his ear and toyed with the silken ends of her hair. She reveled in the warm weight of his body pressing hers into the tousled sheets and her hands skated up and down the length of his spine, enjoying the shiver she drew from him each time her fingers brushed over the small of his back.

The peaceful interlude was interrupted by the rumbling of her stomach. She giggled – a girlish sound that drew him onto his elbows to grin into her face.

"I should feed you." He craned his neck to see the time. "Are they still serving breakfast?"

"Um… hello?" She rapped her knuckles against his skull. "I brought breakfast, remember?"

"Hell, no!" He exclaimed. "We're not eating that cake. I'm having it bronzed. Lacquered. Preserved for eternity under glass."

"Oh yeah?" she laughed. "Why's that?"

"That cake must be magic," he said. "I made a wish on it and minutes later it came true."

"I'll tell you a secret. The cake isn't magic." She raised her head from the pillow and brushed her lips against his ear. "It was the frosting," she whispered. "Chocolate makes me crazy."

"In that case, I'll buy you pounds of it," he told her. "I'll see to it that your monthly pay comes in the form of chocolate bars rather than credits." He reared up and pulled her alongside him. Stretching across her, he snatched the carton from the nightstand.

"You can have it all. As a matter-of-fact, I insist. You _should_ have it all." He pushed the cake toward her.

She laughed and slipped comfortably beneath the sheets. "I think there's enough to share." She dipped a finger into the frosting and sucked it into her mouth. "But I want a fork this time." The sheet fell and pooled around her hips and he could not resist brushing gentle fingers over the satiny skin, stirring a soft nipple back to life.

"God." Her forehead fell against his and she wrapped a hand around his wrist. "A fork," she whispered. "Go." She shoved a weak hand against his shoulder.

He pressed a quick kiss against the swell of her breast before bounding out of bed to stride unselfconsciously nude through the partition that separated the two rooms. She heard him rattling through a drawer and then he reappeared, a fork clutched in each hand. He slid under the covers and curled one arm over her shoulder. She shifted and rested her head comfortably against his chest and they made quick work of the cake, devouring every last crumb.

"What was your real wish?" she asked as she consumed the last bite of cake.

He shook his head. "I can't tell you," he murmured into her hair. "Even I know not to reveal a wish made on a candle."

She craned her head back and pressed her lips to the underside of his jaw. Sated in every way, she slid down on the mattress and stretched her limbs languidly. He propped himself up on one elbow and idly traced circles around her navel through the sheet.

"We still have most of the day ahead of us," he noted. "What do you want to do?"

She rolled her head toward him, blinking sleepily. "I thought we were already doing it."

"Yeah?" he smiled. "You just want to spend the day here?"

She pushed him onto his back and curled up against him. Resting her cheek on his shoulder, she laid one hand against the center of his chest, a distant part of her brain noting the pleasing contrast of the darkness of her skin against the golden flesh of his torso.

Wrapping her arms around him, she rubbed her cheek against his chest and nodded. And endless cycle of sleeping and making love loomed ahead. In this place, at this moment, she was happy.

"Yes," she sighed contentedly. "Let's just stay here."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

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Chapter Four

They did not skulk about planning clandestine trysts, but neither did they broadcast the change in their relationship.

"This – whatever _this_ is – is private and I would like to keep it that way," she had told him.

Knowing that she had been uncomfortable with the speculative looks during her brief romance with Spock and fully aware that their relationship would draw even more scrutiny, he acquiesced. It did not escape him that she held doubts as to the longevity of their relationship and was unwilling to suffer the looks from prying eyes should things not work out between them.

xxxxx

Kirk leaned against the edge of the bar in one of the recreational lounges, listening with ill-concealed humor as Spock and Bones entered into one of their long-standing debates when he saw her approach.

"Shot of Jack," Uhura ordered.

He raised a hand to signal the bartender. "Her drink's on me."

"Her drink's on her," she corrected and carefully controlled the smile quivering near the corner of her mouth. The words tripped off her lips with familiar ease and he grinned in recognition, clapping a hand over his heart.

"Come on, Uhura. Cut a guy a break. I'm just trying to have a conversation with you."

She rolled her eyes, working hard to maintain a bored expression.

"I know I don't have a chance with you, but can't we at least talk?" He shifted closer. "I just want to hear an angel speak."

Her only response was a long-suffering sigh and a mock-pleading look at the others who were listening in with obvious amusement. They laughed appreciatively, seeing only the familiar thrust and parry of the captain's obviously over-the-top flirtations and Uhura's pointed lack of interest. No one recognized the barely disguised mirth of a couple who understood the subtext of the inside jokes bouncing back and forth between them.

Kirk lobbed a few more increasingly bad come-on lines her way and she effortlessly swatted them aside to the delight of their audience. Enjoying the quick-witted exchange, she leaned back, bracing both elbows on the bar, her body language unconsciously inviting. He moved nearer and as they kept up their lively banter, neither of them noticed Bones' eyes narrow with suspicion, nor the speculative lift of Spock's brow.

Though the captain kept a carefully respectful distance between them, her easy and open acceptance of his proximity was suddenly obvious to the two who knew them best.

xxx

The doors had barely hissed closed behind them when she made her move, leaping up and wrapping her arms and legs around him. Caught off guard, he staggered and they tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs. He twisted his body to take the brunt of the fall and she laughed as she pushed herself up. Shifting quickly, she straddled him, locking her fingers around his wrists and pinning his arms above his head.

"Now I've got you where I want you," she told him. "Don't struggle. You'll only make things worse."

"Please be gentle." The impatient thrust of his hips beneath hers belied the feigned note of fear in his voice. She snickered and leaned down to press her mouth to his.

Uhura was a serious woman used to serious relationships with serious-minded men and had always before found those relationships to be physically and emotionally fulfilling.

But as she sank into the laughing kiss, she realized for the first time that a love affair could be both serious _and_ fun.

The flavor of the kiss changed, intensifying, and she could feel his heart hammering against the wall of his chest. She released his wrists, her fingers fumbling clumsily with the closure of his jeans as he impatiently pushed the hem of her skirt over her hips, tearing away the silky scrap of fabric that separated them with a twist of his hands.

The breath stuttered out of her lungs as she took him deep inside her. Sitting up, she tossed her head, flinging the curtain of her hair over one shoulder. She smiled, enjoying the dominant position. Suddenly a playful expression came over her face and bracing her hands on either side of his head, she leaned forward.

"So, tell me." Her breath feathered over his lips. "What's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?"

His eyes widened and a delighted grin slashed over his face.

"Oh," he groaned. "That is the _granddaddy_ of cheesy lines."

She laughed out loud, thrilled to have put the look of amused pleasure on his face. Her laughter vibrated through her body, pulsed around his, drawing from him a sudden gasp.

"God!" A long, low groan escaped him. "Do that again."

"Do what?" she murmured, rubbing her lips teasingly over his.

"Laugh."

She braced her hands on his shoulders and her brows drew together in a confused frown.

"What? Why?" she asked curiously.

"Because it feels amazing."

"You're weird," she decided.

"No I'm not. Come on…"

"I can't just laugh on demand," she told him, exasperation creeping into her voice, followed quickly by a note of panic. "Don't you dare!" She grabbed his hands just as he was about to drill tickling fingers into her ribs. "Don't!"

He surrendered, flopping back down beneath her. "Okay. Okay. I'll stop." He freed a hand and wrapped it around the back of her head, drawing her down for another leisurely kiss. Dragging his lips from hers, his mouth trailed a heated path over the line of her jaw. She tipped her head to one side, her eyes fluttering closed as his tongue painted idle patterns over the vein pulsing in her throat. His warm mouth latched onto the flesh just above the notch of her collarbone. Suckled. She shivered and then let out an ear-piercing shriek when he blew a fat, wet raspberry against her skin.

Writhing, gasping with laughter, she struggled to get away but his hands were as firmly clamped on her hips as his mouth was latched to her tender flesh. He rolled, pinning her beneath him.

Panting, breathless with laughter, she looked up into his grinning face. A giggle escaped her and he let out an exaggerated groan.

"Oh, yeah. That's the way."

"You're nuts." She scratched her fingers through his hair in a gesture of exasperated affection.

"Yeah, but you love it," he said with a lazy thrust of his hips.

Smiling, she twined her arms around his neck and drew him into another kiss and the air in his quarters was filled with the sound of happy laughter and muted sighs.

xxxx

Loose and limber after an hour of swimming laps – by turns in cheerful competition and leisurely companionship – Nyota and Christine Chapel chatted amiably about their dinner plans as they exited the locker room. The muffled sounds of shouted expletives and raucous male laughter caught their attention and they moved as one to sate their curiosity. Doors hissed open at their approach and they stepped inside one of the half dozen playing courts situated in the fitness facility.

"What are they playing?" Christine asked.

"It looks like springball, but…"

"No. Springball is played by two opponents," Christine objected.

Uhura nodded, brows knit in confusion as she watched four men roughly jostling each other about. The squeaking sounds of their athletic shoes against the highly polished floor of the court competed with the good-natured insults and advice being offered by the remaining men standing along the sidelines. She studied the players closely and let out a sigh as understanding dawned.

"Of course," she muttered.

"What?" the other woman asked curiously.

Nyota gestured toward the players as they pushed and shoved one another on the court. "He's never happy playing by the rules." She pointed toward the captain who was grappling with another player. Bare-chested, his fair hair darkened with sweat, he body-checked the other player to block his shot and hooted with glee as his teammate stole the ball and slammed it into the target on the wall. "Why play one-on-one when you can double the fun?"

"And double the odds of having your teeth rattled loose." The medical professional in Christine winced as the four men pummeled one another in an effort to gain control the ball. "As if springball isn't a rough enough game when there are only two players." She grimaced as Kirk let out a vicious string of oaths when one of his opponents planted an elbow firmly into the captain's ribs, disrupting his shot and sending it bouncing off one of the foul zones.

Kirk spun away, catching the ball as it caromed back at the players. His gloved hand flashed out and smashed the ball into the oval target. His arms lifted reflexively over his head in celebration and he was caught off balance as the other team moved as one, driving their shoulders into him in an effort to block him from regaining control of the ball as it ricocheted back toward them. His feet tangled with one of theirs, flying out from under him and he fell, smacking his head hard against the floor.

Uhura gasped, instinctively moving toward the fallen man. She checked herself back into place when she saw him reach up to grab the helping hand extended toward him. He popped back to his feet with a good-natured laugh. Waving off the other man's horrified apology, Kirk glanced up at the monitor displaying the score, clapped a hand on his subordinate's shoulder and cheerfully congratulated him and his teammate on their win.

"Great game," he told them. "But we demand a rematch." He glanced over his shoulder at his teammate and offered him a grinning wink. "Don't we?"

The other man shook his head. "Not today." He winced theatrically and stretched aching muscles. Kirk's laughter boomed out in response.

"A week from today, then." He stabbed a challenging finger at the opposing team.

"Same prize?" one of the men asked.

Kirk grinned and nodded. "Losing team buys the beer. He snatched up a towel and ran it over his face. "I've got a dinner meeting in an hour, so I can't make it today. But first round's still on me. Have them put it on my tab. Second round's on this guy." He waggled a thumb at his teammate.

He stood at the center of the group, laughing as the men exchanged sly insults and packed up their gear. Slinging the towel around his neck, he picked up a water bottle and tipped his head back for a long drink. Lowering the bottle, he caught sight of the two women standing near the door. He moved toward them, a happy smile wreathing his face.

"Ladies." He greeted them both, though his gaze lingered on Nyota's face. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to see the spectacular move that cost you the game," Uhura sassed tartly.

He winced and rubbed his fingers over the tender spot on the back of his head. "Luckily for me I have a thick skull." He shot her an engaging smile – all laughing summer blue eyes and tousled gold hair – and she could not help but grin in response.

Christine stood quietly, a fascinated spectator to the unspoken conversation between the two.

Kirk reached out and gave Uhura's damp ponytail a chastising tug.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who's been playing," he commented, fingers toying idly with the ends of her hair. "Who won?"

"Not everything is a competition," Nyota responded with a lofty tone and upturned nose. "Women understand the simple benefits of friendship combined with physical exercise."

"So. You beat her." He grinned at Christine.

The nurse casually studied her manicure and affected a bored tone. "Only four of six races." She shrugged and looked up to meet his smile with one of her own.

"But who's counting, right?" He barked out a laugh.

Nyota pushed her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout before joining in their laughter.

"We have dinner plans," Uhura finally told him as she adjusted the strap of her gym bag on her shoulder. "And I believe you have a meeting."

"Duty calls," he sighed sadly. "If you'll excuse me." He bade them farewell, then jogged across the court to gather up his belongings before heading to the showers.

The two women exited the fitness facility.

"I know we were talking about just grabbing a bite in the officer's lounge," Christine said as they walked through the corridor toward the turbolift. "But why don't we eat in my quarters?" she suggested, dying now to get her friend alone. "It'll be more comfortable."

"That sounds good," Nyota agreed. "Give me thirty minutes to get cleaned up and I'll meet you there."

"Perfect." They exited the lift on the level that housed the officer's quarters. "Bring dessert!" Christine called out as they separated.

xxxx

"Ahhh." Christine moaned happily as the first spoonful of silky mousse slid over her tongue. She and Nyota had chatted amiably over the salads she had ordered in deference to the decadent dessert offering she knew her friend would bring.

Nyota smiled and spooned up a stingy amount of chocolate from her own bowl in an effort to make it last longer.

Christine sighed and settled more comfortably into her chair and studied her friend. Uhura's long legs were draped over one arm of her chair, her head resting on the other. The picture of relaxation, she had closed her eyes and was lazily waving her spoon around in time to a song she was softly humming under her breath.

"So… you and the captain, huh?"

The humming stopped abruptly and Nyota's eyes popped open as her head whipped towards her friend. Christine delicately lapped up another bit of chocolate. The innocent expression on her face was belied by the gleeful dancing of her blue eyes.

"Is it a big secret?" the head nurse asked. "Because if so you should tell the captain to stop looking at you the way he did a little while ago."

"The captain looks at every woman," Nyota said with a dismissive flick of her spoon.

"Not anymore," Christine countered. "Not since he's taken command." She curled her legs beneath her. "Look, if you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to," she said in a serious tone. "But if you do want to talk, I just want you to know that I can keep a confidence."

"It's not a secret exactly…" Nyota swirled her spoon through her dessert, moodily tracing patterns in the chocolate. "It's just… private."

"Okay," Christine acknowledged quietly. "I won't bring it up again."

Silence reigned as both women devoted themselves to their desserts.

"Um… just for the sake of curiosity. How did he look at me?"

A smile bloomed over Christine's face. She hastily swallowed the last bit of chocolate and set the bowl aside.

"Like he was lit up from within at the sight of you."

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm." Christine took note of the flush that stained her friend's cheeks with a rosy undertone and the smile that flirted with the edges of her mouth.

"I also noted that it wasn't just the captain doing the looking," Christine commented, grinning as her friend's mouth opened and closed on an aborted objection.

"Of course, he _is_ gorgeous," the blonde continued on a breathy sigh. "You'd have to be made of stone not to want to look." She laughed as Nyota's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"It's actually kind of obvious once you know to look," Christine said. "How long has it been going on?"

"A couple of months," Nyota admitted in a studiously casual tone.

"Is it serious?"

"No! Of course not." Frowning at her friend, she sat up.

"Hmm," Christine speculated. "If you say so. But I know what I saw."

"And what exactly was that?" Nyota asked sharply.

All hints of teasing fled from Christine's expression.

"Well, first of all, I saw your reaction when he fell…"

"Oh, come on," Nyota objected. "It was pure instinct. He could have been injured. Anyone would have –"

"But nobody else did." Christine rolled on, ignoring her friend's objections. "I'm a nurse and even I didn't react the way you did. And I noticed that your attention was on him – and only him – the entire time we were standing there. And the way he could barely drag his eyes away from you to speak with me."

"Oh, come on, Christine."

"And that's not all."

"No?" Nyota let out a long-suffering sigh as if to convey how ridiculous she found the entire line of conversation.

"No. What clinched it for me was the way he grabbed your ponytail."

Nyota laughed.

"You can roll your eyes all you want, Ny, but there was an implied intimacy and familiarity with the way he played with your hair. And more to the point, I noticed that you did not slap his hand away. As a matter-of-fact, now that I think about it, you were flirting with him the entire time."

"I've already admitted that we're sleeping together," Nyota huffed. "But from one five minute conversation, you now think that we're in some serious relationship?"

"No. I think that because you're trying so hard to deny it."

Nyota gnawed on a thumbnail and did not respond.

"Talk to me, Nyota. What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong. I just think you're trying to make a bigger deal of this than it actually is." Nyota grimaced, her objection sounding weak even to her own ears.

Christine tilted her head. "What are you afraid of?" she prodded softly.

"I don't know." Nyota wrapped her arms around her legs and drew her knees to her chest. "Until just now, I would have said nothing." She pressed her forehead to her knees. "But you're sitting here talking about the way he _looks_ at me – and worse! About the way I look back."

Christine wisely bit back an amused grin at the aggrieved tone of her friend's muffled voice.

"Now suddenly, it's all too real." Nyota whispered.

All traces of amusement vanished from Christine's face as her heart clenched at the look of pure misery etched on Nyota's features.

"Why is that so upsetting to you?"

"I don't know." Nyota's shoulders moved in an ill-tempered shrug.

"He confuses you."

"Yes."

"In what way? Curious sympathy tinged Christine's voice.

"There are so many more layers to him than I ever knew," Nyota admitted. "But every time he reveals another part of himself, I feel myself getting sucked deeper into his orbit–" Her voice trailed off.

"You're not in control," Christine noted sagely.

Relief flashed in Nyota's eyes as her friend put words to the feelings she was unable to give voice to.

"Yes."

Christine made a humming sound in her throat. "I can see where that's a problem. You're a bit of a control freak, Ny." She smiled to take the sting out of her observation.

"I know," Nyota moaned and buried her face in her knees again. "I never expected this to last as long as it has," she confessed in a muffled voice. "I just thought we'd have a little bit of fun together and then part as friends. I never thought…"

"Never thought…?" Christine prodded.

"What if it ends badly?" Nyota raised worried eyes to meet her friend's. "I'm risking everything," she whispered. "What if we can't even bear to be around the other? I'm not only risking the personal, Christine. My career's at stake too. I'm risking a position as the chief communications officer on the fleet's flagship. It's crazy!"

"Do you want my advice?" Christine stretched out a hand, touching her fingers to the other woman's.

"Yes," Nyota pleaded fervently.

"You're overthinking it."

"That's it? _That's_ your idea of advice?" "Nyota asked with a nerve-tinged laugh.

"Look, I think you should just enjoy the ride," Christine advised. "Maybe it will turn out to be more than you ever dreamed it could be. Or maybe in the end you'll get hurt."

"Or maybe I'll hurt him." Nyota worriedly gnawed on her lower lip.

"Maybe," the other woman agreed. "But those are all just possibilities. Don't borrow trouble." She shrugged and smiled slyly. "And in the meantime you're having a love affair with an attractive, charismatic man – one who is too smart to spite himself by getting rid of the best communications officer in the fleet – no matter what the reason. And if the gleam in your eye this afternoon is any indication, he's a guy who has been showing you a hell of a good time. What's not to enjoy?"

Flopping back in her chair, she settled herself more comfortably. "Now," she grinned. "I've been a good friend. I've listened to your tale of woe and offered sage advice. I want my reward. Tell me… what's he like in private?" She waggled her brows. "And, please. Don't feel like you have to hold back on the details."

TBC

A/N: I've always had a basic outline for this story in my head but a nasty case of writer's block is making it a pure struggle to translate "in my head" to "on the page". I do promise to try my very best to finish it. Frankly, I'd like it out of my head…


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This chapter is long on exposition. I spent a lot of time in Uhura's (and then Kirk's) head –

so not a lot in the way of action or dialogue, but I hope, still interesting.

Chapter Five

Stepping into her own quarters a short while later, Nyota stripped out of her clothes. Laying them neatly over a chair tucked into the corner of the sleeping area, she pulled a faded, red t-shirt from a shelf in the closet. Tugging on the oversized shirt, she padded barefoot into the bathroom to wash her face.

Returning to the other room, she sat on the narrow bed and curled her legs beneath her. Reaching for a brush from the nearby nightstand, she pulled at the elastic band securing her ponytail and with a little shake of her head, allowed the mass of dark hair to fall past her shoulders. Lulled into a hypnotic state by the rhythmic pull of the brush, she closed her eyes and imagined that it was Kirk's hands in her hair. She thought of the absent manner in which he allowed the silken strands to slither through his fingers as they relaxed in his quarters at the end of a long day; shivered at the image of the rope of her ponytail wrapped possessively around his fist to hold her captive while his mouth moved demandingly over hers; smiled at the recollection of the gentleness of his fingers combing through the dark mane spread over his pillows, of his face buried in the fragrant locks as he moved deeply within her. And her cheeks heated as she realized that Christine had indeed caught a glimpse of such intimacies earlier that day.

Christine had teasingly asked what he was like behind closed doors and Nyota had offered innocuous breadcrumbs without giving specific detail. His easy command style reflected both his youth and personality and as a result, interaction between crew and commander was markedly more relaxed on the _Enterprise_ than one would find anywhere else in Starfleet.

But she was coming to learn that his ready smile and the surface openness of his public persona were a shield protecting his private self from all but the few he allowed behind the defenses he had erected. She was acutely aware that while she enjoyed a personal and intimate relationship with him, he was first and foremost – and always – the captain and that for all his inexperience, he had somehow intuitively struck a chord which allowed him to enjoy a fierce personal loyalty from the crew while still commanding the respect due his rank.

Leaning back into the pillows she admitted that she liked knowing that she was one of the few to enjoy being in his confidence and she guarded the private side of the man – as well as their relationship – with care

She sighed and slid her legs under the covers. It seemed her conversation with Christine had made her contemplative. Nyota kicked her feet in mild irritation. Up until now, she had been content simply to enjoy the time she had been spending with him without giving it any kind of deep analysis. But now it seemed she could do little else.

At one point, Christine had asked her to use one word to describe him and instinctively she had chosen 'complex' and then refused to expand on her answer, choosing instead to change the subject. She had avoided going into detail but there were so many things she could have told her friend – all the ways in which she was coming to know him better.

Little things.

Like the fact that she knew now that he was most relaxed when surrounded by some kind of ambient noise – whether it was music playing or the sound of the voices of announcers calling the play-by-play of some sporting event droning quietly in the background while he worked or read during his off-duty hours.

And big.

Such as the realization that the crude and callow image he liked to project was a sham. She had angrily called him on it once after watching him feign ignorance during a meeting with an arrogant director of a Starfleet outpost near the Klingon border. He had smiled serenely and silently as she chastised him for pretending not to be up to speed on reports of the director's foolish mismanagement of the outpost which left it vulnerable to attack when she knew well that he had stayed up late into the night prior to the meeting intently studying the director's file. It wasn't until the second meeting that she realized his feigned ineptitude was a weapon he had wielded to lull the director into a false sense of superiority. The man had been stunned by Kirk's gradual transformation from slow-witted, youthful ignorance to razor sharp intelligence. Caught off-guard, the man had tripped over his answers and sealed his own fate.

She could have pointed out that the easy-going, devil may care, sometimes reckless attitude he so often displayed was in fact a persona he cultivated to hide the worries and demons which drove him. That the lingering effects of George Kirk's heroic actions a quarter century earlier were both a burden and blessing to the son who had never met his father.

She knew the concerns that gnawed at him in the quiet hours, primary of which was the idea that he had not earned his rank. That the decision to grant to him command of the Fleet's flagship was rooted more in the fascination in which the public held him and the need to not only boost the morale of the rank and file in the wake of so much destruction, but also recruitment to replenish the ranks of those lost, than it was in his ability to lead. There was a certain dramatic poetry in elevating the dashing son of a beloved Federation hero to such dizzying heights. She knew that he understood that he had been rewarded light years beyond his experience and that despite their decision to bestow medals and commendations on him, the admiralty believed the same.

And though he had never given voice to it, she knew that he regretted having no true peer to whom he could turn for counsel. Never before in the history of the Federation had a Starfleet officer made the leap from cadet directly to captain. There was not a soul alive who could advise him on how to handle his unprecedented vault through the ranks. In the normal course of events his education would not have halted at the doors of the Academy but would have continued as he became proficient in the operation and administration of a starship with a steady progression through the ranks from junior officer to captain. Instead he made do by spending many of his on and off-duty hours working in and studying every part of the ship, picking the brains of the various department heads as well as devouring the archived transcripts of logs maintained by captains who had preceded him.

Ordering the lights out, Nyota nestled her cheek into the soft coolness of a pillow and smiled. For all his worry, she knew that he absolutely thrived on the challenges presented by his meteoric rise. She suspected that had tragedy not propelled him to his current position, he would have spent the ensuing years badly concealing his impatience as he worked his way up the chain of command, struggling to curtail his restlessness and surely would have driven his superior officers insane in their efforts to rein him in without extinguishing the spark that made him stand out from his peers. As it was, she knew there were those at Starfleet Command who regularly rebuked him for flaunting the rules, but who were forced to stifle – for the most part – their outrage when his methods had proven thus far to be effective, if not conventional.

But as driven as he was to earn his rank and prove that Starfleet had not made a mistake promoting him so rapidly, he was also supremely confident in his decisions. He put immense faith in the counsel of his senior officers, the ability of his crew to do their jobs and finally in his own judgment. And when something went wrong, he locked himself away, studying his staff's reports as well as his own logs - both personal and official – to learn what he should have or could have done differently.

He was far from perfect. Arrogance and the possession of a mercurial temper were chief among his faults. And yet there was something undeniably compelling about him.

He made her laugh. His humor ran the gamut from sly wit to biting sarcasm and boyish pranks depending on the situation.

He made her think. Surrounded as she was by some of the best young minds in the Fleet, he stood out as having an unmatched inquisitiveness. He enjoyed sparring with Spock over quantum chemistry or discussing transporter theory with Chekov during the sometimes long, dull hours of a quiet shift and happily droned on about tactical analysis with anyone who would listen. He honed his accent and linguistic skills with her over meals, grinning as he translated dirty limericks or song lyrics into Klingon. He laughingly insisted that the most important class he had taken at the Academy had been creative writing, grinning whenever McCoy dryly pointed out that it was certainly the part of his education he employed most often – such as when drafting mission reports for Starfleet.

He had utter confidence in her ability to do her job and treated her with the same respect and sense of camaraderie as he did the rest of the crew and did not hesitate to seek her counsel both on duty and off when he was grappling with a problem.

And he was mindful of keeping rank from playing a role in their personal lives. Leveling the playing field between them by removing the outward symbols of his rank, he stripped out of his uniform tunic the moment they were behind closed doors. On or off duty, when they were around others, he addressed her by her rank or last name and she called him 'captain' or 'sir'. But never in the privacy of his quarters.

Well, she thought, hugging the pillow to her chest, except for one evening a few weeks earlier when her whispered confession of a secret fantasy had led to a particularly inventive bit of role-playing. A shudder rippled through her as the memories played in her mind's eye – powerful hands shoving the hem of her uniform skirt over her hips; calloused fingertips dancing over delicate flesh. A leanly muscled chest pressing into the arched curve of her spine; breath hot against her ear, a roughly growling voice demanding she obey his commands…

Her pulse tripped and she closed her eyes as the soft whisper of a shaky '_yes, Sir_' echoed in her head.

She buried her face in the pillow and let out a muffled gasp. She had deliberately chosen to return to her own quarters that evening rather than joining him in his, as had become her routine. Feeling protective of her independence after her conversation with Christine, she had left her friend determined that it would be good for her to have more time apart from him.

Instead she had spent the entire evening talking and thinking about him.

And… oh God! Suddenly, it became clear that she was on the precipice of falling for him and she didn't care one whit for the sense of being off balance. It was so easy for him, she thought with a snarl. He was used to people turning to him like plants to the sun. The sneaky bastard had somehow gotten past her defenses.

Well, she'd be damned if she'd be one of the masses, she huffed, working herself into a state.

She cautioned herself not to panic. She had willpower didn't she? She hadn't taken the final plunge. She could step back from the brink. End things between them while they were still just friends.

But the truth was that their friendship had only been in its infancy when it had turned to romance. She did not know how long it would take to get back to that point, if ever, and could not bear to think of the impact it would have on their ability to work smoothly together. It had been different with Spock. The idea of allowing hurt feelings to come between them had been so illogical to him that it had been easy for them to fall into a pattern of enjoying a comfortable camaraderie.

She suspected it would not be the same with Kirk.

She kicked away the covers and sat up. Gnawed on one fingernail and blew out a shaky breath. This was exactly why she had shied away from the idea of a romantic entanglement with him. But she had been so charmed by him. She had wanted him and had convinced herself that a love affair with the very sexy Jim Kirk need be nothing more than a fun interlude. She hadn't counted on developing real feelings for him and she was terrified at the thought of not being in control.

Damn it. She did not want to be the one to fall first. What if she opened herself up and he didn't return her feelings? Agitated, she twisted a lock of hair around her finger and forced herself to slow down and think rationally. Maybe she wasn't alone in this. After all, he had told her once that she was the only woman who had ever made him think of forever.

But at her insistence, they had kept things between them easy and simple. And as a result, there had been no more talk of tomorrows. Maybe he had had changed his mind. Maybe he was absolutely content with the uncomplicated path she had set them on.

Maybe she was the only one risking her heart.

Then again, Christine had been adamant that she had seen something in his expression…

He wasn't a perfect man though it seemed suddenly that he might be the perfect man for her.

But to paraphrase him, if she was going down, she wasn't going down alone. If she decided she wanted him, she'd have him. But since she wanted him to say it first, she'd have to make him think it was his idea.

Perhaps she'd start putting her plan into motion by allowing him to miss her a little.

She flopped back onto the bed and drew the covers up to her shoulders. Punched the pillows into shape. Rolled from one side to the other in search of a comfortable position. Tried to shut her brain off long enough to fall asleep.

Ten minutes later she sat up, frustration pumping off her in almost visible waves. She was being silly. Why was she lying here alone when what she wanted was two decks below? It wouldn't be a sign of weakness on her part if she went to see him. She rose from the bed and tugged soft, stretchy leggings over her hips.

After all, his quarters were more comfortable than hers, she reasoned as she stuffed her feet into a pair of shoes and shoved her arms into the sleeves of a bulky cardigan, ignoring the sly sound of her own voice whispering that the true appeal wasn't the generous comfort of more spacious quarters which drew her, but the man who lived in them.

xxxxxxx

Kirk looked up at the sound of the door chime and engaged the view screen to see Uhura standing in the corridor. He frowned, mildly annoyed and wondered what it would take for her to feel comfortable enough to just let herself in when she came to his quarters. He had given her the passcode as soon as it seemed that theirs was not to be simply a one night stand. He called out the command to open the door and the tiny niggle of irritation melted away under the warmth of her smile.

"Hey," he returned her smile. "Did you and Christine have a good time?"

Uhura crossed to where he was sitting at one end of the small sofa in the living space of his quarters.

"We did." She toed off her shoes. "How was your dinner meeting?"

"Long," he moaned. "I'm pretty sure my brain started to bleed after listening to Scotty and Keenser drone on about deflector arrays for more than forty-five minutes."

"You don't fool me," she laughed. "I know you enjoy your reputation for being cooler than the rest of us, but your secret is out," she told him. "You're as big a geek as everyone else on this ship and the entire crew knows how much you love discussing the minutia of hull plating and inertial dampeners and so on with Scotty and that you'll happily do so for _hours_.

"I know!" He tipped his head back to look up at her. "So the fact that I couldn't wait to get to my quarters to deal with all of this–" He waved a hand over the haphazard pile of PADD's scattered around him "-should tell you just how boring a meeting it actually was."

"Poor baby." She leaned over his shoulder to drop an upside down kiss on his sulky mouth and scrubbed sympathetic fingers through his hair. Pulling off her sweater, she settled at the other end of the sofa.

"You know," he frowned. "I've been looking for that shirt for at least a month."

"What? This?" She turned wide, innocent eyes on him and brushed a suggestive hand over the faded baseball logo covering her breasts. "Do you want it back?" She looked at him sadly. "I know it's yours, but it's just so comfortable…"

He eyed with obvious interest the way the soft, well-washed fabric of the t-shirt molded itself to her curves and grinned. "Keep it."

"Thanks." Her pout replaced with a triumphant smile, she swung her legs up onto the cushions and pressed her bare feet against his thigh. Reaching out, she grabbed her own personal PADD from a nearby table and settled into the cushions with a contented sigh.

A comfortable silence fell between them as she read and he worked. At one point, he tilted his head back and rubbed a hand over eyes tired from the strain of reading countless reports. He opened his eyes and let his gaze rest on her. He loved these quiet moments with her at the end of a long day.

He drew one of her feet onto his lap. She peeked up and gave him a small smile before returning her attention to her book, leaving him free to study her. Whether she was the sleek professional with carefully applied makeup and jaunty ponytail while on duty or the exotic beauty with an elaborate hairstyle and dramatic eyes at diplomatic banquets, he thought her always stunning.

But she was never lovelier to his eyes than she was now – hair tumbling messily around her shoulders, her freshly scrubbed face revealing a faint dusting of freckles over high cheekbones.

Here, she was the girl next door and more attainable than the cool professional or exotic beauty could ever be.

He idly noted the narrow, fine-boned elegance of her feet, the fragile skin stretched over the strength of muscle and bone, the splash of color on the nails and he had the fleeting thought that her foot encapsulated every aspect of her character.

His lips tipped upward in a private smile for he was not often prone to flights of such fanciful thought and yet he could not shake the notion, for he had come to know her as an intriguing combination of strength and softness.

Skillful and sure on the job, she was a woman who fit easily and comfortably in an environment still mostly dominated by men. She carried herself with grace and elegance but had a wicked sense of humor. He stifled a grin in remembrance of the times she had clapped a hand over her mouth in wide-eyed embarrassment as all eyes turned toward the sound of the bawdy laughter which had escaped her.

Small-boned and petite, her delicate beauty masked an underlying strength of body and mind.

Huge, dark eyes burned with intelligence and curiosity. He had seen her draw a weapon in defense of her crewmates and had been privileged to enjoy the same quietly ferocious support on more than one occasion when his unorthodox command decisions had been called into question. And he had known her to censure a subordinate for reporting unprepared for duty with the same restrained intensity in which she had defended the performance of another from what she deemed an unfair allegation.

He had realized from the moment of their first meeting that Uhura was fiercely intelligent, decisive and strong. Now, as she grew increasingly comfortable with him, she had begun to allow him to know the inner softness and warmth of Nyota.

His fingers ghosted over the network of veins running beneath her skin, felt the steady throb of her pulse beating in her ankle. The green paint slicked over her nails reminded him of an Iowan field. The softness of that shade – the color of spring grass – spoke to him of the tender and whimsical side of her nature which she kept hidden from others.

He saw her head loll to one side as she drifted into sleep under the gentle caress of his stroking fingers. He leaned forward to catch the PADD before it dropped from her lax grip. Easing her foot from his lap, he rose to his feet. Slipping his arms carefully beneath her, he lifted her into his arms.

She startled awake.

"Shh," he soothed.

"I fell asleep."

He smiled at the obviousness of her statement and felt her arms lift to curl around his neck as he carried her to the bed.

"Hold on," he murmured and she tightened her grip as he reached out with one hand to tug back the covers. He eased her onto the bed and helped her wriggle out of the stretchy leggings before she slipped under the blanket. He stripped out of his own clothes and lowered himself into the welcoming embrace of her outstretched arms.

He buried his face in the fragrant warmth of her throat and pressed a kiss against the lazily beating pulse he found there before shifting onto his side.

"I didn't think I'd see you tonight," he admitted. He smoothed a lock of dark hair between his thumb and forefinger, his knuckles brushing against her jaw. He wondered briefly as to the meaning of the tiny, pleased smile that crossed her lips as he played with her hair.

"I almost didn't come," she admitted. "I know it was late. You don't mind, do you?"

Mind? A rueful laugh echoed in his head. Far from it. He wondered what she'd think if she knew that he sometimes imagined what it would be like if she moved in permanently. Wondered how she would react if she knew that he was mad for her; if she had any idea that he falling in love with her. He imagined that admitting his feelings would send her racing in the other direction.

So he kept his feelings buried and forced a smile onto his lips.

"Mind?" he asked in an easy voice. He worked up a wolfish leer and rewarded with her sleepy giggle in response. He ordered the lights off and she snuggled close, her nose pressing against his shoulder, her hand coming to rest on his stomach. Moments later, he felt her body relax against his as she slid back into sleep.

She had come to him, again, and he didn't think she was aware of how much of herself she left behind each time. But he knew each item of her clothing nestled alongside his in the confined space of his closet, her soap and shampoo crowded with his in the small bathroom, the small gold earrings tossed carelessly atop his bureau.

His plan – though admittedly not up to his usual tactical prowess – was simply to keep his silence and allow each personal item of hers pile up with the hope that by the time she realized that she had all but moved in with him, she'd also understand that she was precisely where she was meant to be.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Anniversary Waltz (6/?)

Rating: R (mature)

Characters/Pairing: Kirk/Uhura

Disclaimer: Characters and canon belong to Paramount, Roddenberry, Abrams and many others but not me. All rights reserved. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is made by the author.

Summary: One year prior, the Enterprise had shipped out for its first mission under the official command of James T. Kirk and the young captain had deemed it a day worthy of recognition

Chapter Six

"The K'arangans are a fascinating species." Ensign Caitlyn Delgado's voice was as animated as the expression on her face. Excitement danced in the xenologist's eyes, a clear and startling green which, combined with smooth caramel skin and a fall of raven hair bound in a neat tail at the nape of her neck, were evidence of her mixed Terran heritage.

Kirk's gaze traveled idly from one face to another gathered around the conference room table. The planet K'aranga was visible through a window as the Enterprise maintained a lazy orbit.

"The ensign is correct." Spock spoke in his usual measured tone. "The K'arangans are a curious people. Their technology is advanced but much of their culture and society is tribal by comparison."

Kirk nodded in agreement and glanced reflexively at his notes though he had long ago memorized their contents as well as all the data which had been gathered by the Federation on the planet below and its people.

Although first contact with the K'arangans had been established only two years prior, their admission as a member planet was being fast-tracked by the Federation. The small planet was rich in vital natural resources, particularly in tritanium and negotiations with the K'arangan leaders had been swift in comparison to many of its predecessor member planets. The Enterprise was tasked with the mission of ferrying the freshly minted ambassador to his new post.

As the ranking officer of the Enterprise and representative of Starfleet, Kirk would administer the oath of office to the ambassador at a formal ceremony the next day and would sign the treaty admitting K'aranga as a member planet of the Federation.

Today he was leading a small landing party to the surface for an informal meeting with the K'arangan leaders and to take a tour of one of the villages.

"Okay, people." Kirk rolled his chair away from the table and stood. The others scrambled to their feet as well.

"We leave in fifteen minutes." He turned his head. "Lieutenant Uhura, please notify the Ambassador to meet us in the transporter room."

"Aye, Captain." She leaned over a console located in one corner of the room and transmitted Kirk's orders then followed him to where he stood by the window.

"Gorgeous," she breathed, staring at the planet below. The water surrounding the land mass visible to them was a hue so vividly violet, it took the breath away.

He turned his head toward her. "I wish you were going with us."

"I'll be at the ceremony and reception tomorrow."

"I know. Still, K'aranga is reported to be absolutely beautiful. I'd like to experience it the first time with you."

Her lips tipped upward in the private smile she reserved just for him.

"Tomorrow," she promised. "In the meantime, remember the phrases I taught you and just be your usual charming self."

She rolled her eyes as he visibly preened at her words and they shared a laugh.

"Just try not to cause an interplanetary incident," she smirked.

"Yes, ma'am." He drew himself erect to snap off a smart salute at her command and she bit back a snicker in response.

"I'd better go rescue Mr. Spock." He tipped his head toward the other side of the room where the young ensign was bending his first officer's ear with bubbling enthusiasm. They shared a quick grin at the look of patient stoicism etched on Spock's face at Delgado's puppy-like eagerness to get to the surface of the planet.

"All right, folks." Kirk moved toward the doorway and clapped a friendly hand on Spock's shoulder. "Let's get this party started."

"Good luck, Captain."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Kirk's chin dipped in response to her words and he watched as she moved toward the turbolift to return to the bridge. Executing an about face that would have made his Academy instructors weep with pleasure, Kirk turned on his heel and began to make his way to the transporter room.

"With me, Commander," he called as his first officer fell into place beside him, matching his brisk pace. The two men spoke quietly as they moved through the busy corridors of the Enterprise.

Entering the transporter room, Kirk stopped to greet the ambassador who awaited them and gestured politely for the man to ascend to the pad. Ensign Delgado fairly flew up the short flight of steps, followed by a video tech sent by the Federation to document the momentous occasion as well as Lieutenant Hendorff and another member of the security team. The small landing party waited for the captain to join them.

"The ship's yours until I get back, Spock." He bounded up the steps and took his place beside the others. "Don't leave without me." He grinned at the other man's arched brow, which he had learned to interpret as the Vulcan equivalent of an eye roll. It never failed to amuse him when he managed to elicit that response.

"I shall speak with you upon your return, Captain." Spock tipped his head to one side, the expression on his face one of enduring patience. "Perhaps we can discuss the day's events during the evening meal."

"Sounds good." Kirk turned toward the transporter technician.

"Energize."

xxxxxxxx

The landing party reformed on the planet's surface. Kirk blinked against the brilliance of the sun's rays and took a quick look around. A party of K'arangans approached and one man stepped forward.

"Greetings," he said in Standard. "I am Nobu, chief of my people. We welcome you."

Kirk took the man's outstretched hand and smiling, murmured the greeting Uhura had taught him.

"It is our honor to be among you," he said in the native language.

The chief's lips twitched into a returning smile. Taller than Kirk by about two inches, he was a prime example of his species. His skin was pale, almost to the point of being translucent, and the network of veins running beneath was clearly visible. His eyes were a blue so icy in color they were nearly as silver as the fall of hair which swept over his shoulders.

"Please allow me to introduce the rest of my party." Kirk swept a hand out and the others stepped forward one by one as the introductions were made. Nobu nodded and made pleased sounding noises in his throat as he listened to the ambassador's effusive greetings and he nodded politely to the rest of the team.

"And this is Ensign Delgado." Kirk indicated the young woman who had moved forward. "She's a xenologist and is quite eager to get to know more about your planet and your people. Isn't that right, Ensign?"

Delgado was fairly vibrating with excitement as she greeted Nobu.

Staring at her, Nobu did not return her greeting. An older man, whose hair was shorn into a silver tuft at the crown of his head, separated himself from the small group hovering nearby and sidled up to the chieftain. He whispered frantically into Nobu's ear, but the chief's gaze never wavered from Delgado's face.

She exchanged a confused look with her captain and took one hesitant step back. Long, awkward seconds passed and then finally Nobu shook his head and blinked. He stepped closer. His hand lifted almost involuntarily toward her hair as if compelled to touch, before he caught himself and dropped his arm to his side.

"Is… everything alright?" Kirk asked cautiously, subtly shifting his weight so that Delgado was shielded behind one of his shoulders.

"Forgive my rudeness." Nobu offered an apologetic smile. "It is simply that the young lady is as one who has stepped from the pages of our sacred scripture. She is the image of M'ylana, the handmaiden to our god. I was caught by surprise."

Kirk's tensed shoulders relaxed marginally at the sheepish expression on the chieftain's face.

"It was not my desire to cause you discomfort." Nobu cocked his head to one side and studied the young woman standing near her captain.

Delgado's uncertainty disappeared beneath the warmth of the chief's smile.

The older man murmured quietly into Nobu's ear once again and the chief's expression grew thoughtful. He nodded once and turned back to address his visitors.

"Captain, when I awoke today, it was with lingering reservations as to the wisdom of joining your Federation and whether it was the right path for my people. I chose this day to make our unification official because it is a special time on my people's calendar. It is the day on which our god took his rightful place in the heavens to rule over all which you can see."

He raised his hands and gestured to the sky, then lowered them to point to the earth beneath his feet.

"Tomorrow your people will join us for a feast – a traditional K'arangan celebration, not only of our holiest of days, but also of our alliance with the Federation. But today we venerate our god with prayer and ceremony."

His gaze rested once again on Delgado's rapt face.

"I awoke this morning filled with uncertainty," he said again. "But surely your presence here can only be seen as a sign that our god is pleased with the course we have charted."

"I am unfamiliar with your sacred texts and beliefs," Delgado began. "If it would give no offense to you or your people, I would very much like to learn all that you are willing to teach me."

A joyful smile broke over Nobu's face. He turned to share a quiet word with the wizened man hovering near his shoulder.

"We would be honored to have you participate in our ceremony today."

Delgado's eager gaze swung toward Kirk.

"Oh, Captain. Think of all we could learn. Why I could –"

Kirk laughed and raised both hands as if in surrender.

"Far be it from me to stand between a representative of Starfleet and her duty. Permission granted, Ensign."

Nobu shared a look with the old man who turned and gestured with his hand. Immediately a group of women stepped forward. They surrounded Delgado, touching her hair and chattering excitedly as they led her away.

She craned her head and glanced over her shoulder, her excited gaze meeting her captain's. With her dark beauty and the bright blue of her uniform, she was an exotic creature amid the silvery delicacy of the others.

"They will take good care of her," Nobu assured Kirk. "Shall we?"

Flanked by Nobu on one side and the ambassador on the other, with security following at a discreet distance, Kirk set off to take a tour of the surrounding area as the video tech swooped about shooting footage.

K'aranga was, as Spock and Delgado had opined, fascinating. Though Kirk maintained a cool façade, he too felt the tingle of excitement at having the opportunity to take part in this moment. Though the Enterprise and her crew had encountered numerous alien cultures in the last year plus of travel, it was entirely different to be honored with the task of officially welcoming a new species into the fold.

K'arangan society was a unique fusion of advanced technology – as required by the Federation before first contact could be initiated – and a simplistic native lifestyle. No towering buildings speared upward to block the sky. The homes were low and modest structures, simple though not lacking in creature comforts. The people, though well-educated and obviously capable of achieving such advanced technology, dressed in a manner reminiscent of ancient earth cultures in simple robes which left the shoulders and arms bare. Theirs was a communal society, small clusters of villages dotting the landscape, inhabitants working together to raise the children, care for the elderly, and provide for the basic needs of the group.

And the landscape itself, Kirk thought, was every bit as beautiful as described. The air was perfumed with the sweet fragrance of the flowers blooming abundantly along the roadside and as far as the eye could see were carefully tended fields – golden and green – burdened with their crops nearly ready for harvest.

He breathed in, drawing the fragrant air deeply into his lungs, and looked forward to the next day when his crew – and more importantly, Nyota – would join him.

xxxxxxxxx

Kirk and the others had spent most of the day in the company of Nobu and after a light meal shortly around midday, were bidden by the chief to join him for the religious ceremony. The chief led them into the trees which surrounded the main village. He settled them in a shaded area near the base of a wide stairway which led to a stone temple. The temple, though simple in structure, nonetheless rose majestically from the ground to tower overhead. Riots of flowers grew along the base of the temple and the trees had been cut away to allow beams of sunlight to pour directly onto the temple roof.

The K'arangan people crowded into the clearing around the temple and the air hummed with countless hushed conversations. The sudden high tone of a single chime sounded and the crowd quieted.

The wizened old man whom Kirk had seen earlier in the day walked out of the temple doors and raised his arms to the large stone statue positioned prominently at the top of the steps. Though Kirk recognized only a few of the words spoken, it was obvious that the man was a priest and was offering prayers to the K'arangan god.

The crowd parted to allow a procession of women to pass through their midst. Draped in white robes, their silver hair raining down their backs, they pass in pairs through the crowd toward the temple steps. Kirk could not hold back a smile as Delgado, wearing a robe in the palest shade of green shot through with silver threads was led up the stone steps to the platform beneath the statue of the native god. Reverent whispers of 'M'ylana' rippled through the crowd as a garland of flowers was ceremonially draped around her neck and another crowned her hair which fell in a glorious ebony curtain to her shoulders.

Gentle hands guided her to face the crowd and a new energy pulsed through the assemblage. The hairs on the back of Kirk's neck rose in response. The crowd's arms lifted as one into the air and they began chanting something he could not understand. Though he could not clearly see her face from where he stood, he thought he detected something off in the way she moved.

"What's going on?" he demanded, turning to Nobu. But the chieftain was as caught up as the rest of the throng. Eyes closed and body swaying, he ignored – or did not hear – Kirk's question.

A frisson of alarm skittered along Kirk's spine and he drew out his communicator.

"Kirk to Enterprise. Do you read me?"

"This is Enterprise." Uhura's voice sounded in his ear. "Go ahead, Captain."

"Beam us out of here – _now_."

The urgency in his voice caught the bridge crew's attention.

"May I inquire as to what is happening, Captain?" Spock requested.

"No time to talk, Spock," Kirk gritted. "Just get us all out of here."

"Captain, we cannot get a lock on Ensign Delgado." The disembodied voice of the transporter technician sounded across the comm link.

Kirk groaned.

"She's not wearing her communicator," he shouted. His eyes widened as he watched the women guide Delgado to lie supine on the stone table at the top of the stairs and dull horror slicked his skin with an icy sweat as he realized she was lying on an altar beneath the statue of the K'arangan god.

"Find her now!" he ordered.

"Scanning for her bio-sign," came word from the transporter room.

On the bridge, the crew looked at one other in stark confusion.

"On-screen now," Spock demanded. "I want to know what is happening down there."

"Aye, sir." Uhura's fingers flew over her console and in seconds a somewhat grainy image flashed onto the main viewscreen.

"Can you clear the image, Lieutenant?"

"Working on it, sir. There is some distortion from the planet's atmosphere."

Confirmation came from the transporter room.

"Captain, I am having difficulty picking out the Ensign's signal."

The bridge crew watched as Kirk plunged into the undulating mass, trying desperately to push his way up the stone stairs.

"NO!" His shout echoed through the open comm. "Don't do this!"

Security dove into the throng after the captain, fighting to get to him.

"Enterprise!" Hendorff called as he saw the glint of sunlight on the blade of the dagger held aloft in the priest's hand. "Get the captain out of here now!"

Uhura's eyes widened with alarm but she said nothing, her gaze fixated on the events taking place on the planet's surface.

"Belay that, Mr. Spock." Kirk ordered. "Don't you dare."

His shouts and curses grew increasingly frantic and he pushed and shoved his way through the crowd.

"Status, Enterprise. What is going on?" His breathing was ragged.

"Still trying to get a lock on Delgado, Captain." Uhura forced a note of calmness which she did not feel into her voice.

As he neared the top of the steps, he shouted Delgado's name. Her head turned sluggishly toward him. Though her face was curiously slack and her gaze clouded, her eyes pleaded with him for rescue. He faltered and froze in place. Though she had obviously been drugged in some manner, her eyes showed awareness of everything that was happening. One tear slipped free of her lashes to trickle over her cheek until it was absorbed into the thick mass of her hair.

"Please," he screamed, renewing his efforts with increased urgency.

"Don't!"

The bridge crew seemed to hold a collective breath, helplessness stunning them into inactivity as the captain's frantic pleas echoed through the room.

"Don't! Please. Stop! NOOOOO!"

And then – complete silence as they watched the captain reach the top of the steps just as the priest plunged the blade into Delgado's breast, piercing her heart. Her body arched once as pain exploded through her and then seemed to deflate as she collapsed onto the stone altar.

The crew saw Kirk fall to knees, arms outstretched in a final plea for mercy and the security team at last reached his side.

And then – bedlam as the K'arangans lifted their voices in a joy-filled song, hands reaching to the heavens. Kirk scrambled to his feet, intent more than ever on reaching Delgado. When the priest reached out to stop him, blood-stained dagger still clutched in his hand, Hendorff did not hesitate to shove the old man to the ground, stunning the crowd.

The multitude was silent now as Kirk pressed his fingers against Delgado's jugular. His eyes swept over her, the green robes wet and stained with red like a macabre Christmas decoration.

A seemingly interminable moment passed as the bridge crew watched the captain carefully gather Delgado into his arms. He lowered his lips to her ear and whispered something and the only sounds that could be heard in the room were the ragged, stifled breaths of the crew.

And then , the captain's voice – hoarse and devoid of emotion.

"Kirk to Enterprise. Beam us out of here."

TBC

A/N: I actually have most of the next chapter written. I wrote that chapter before this which is odd for me as I'm a fairly lineal writer. I need to make some edits to tie the two chapters together but it should not be a very long time before the next chapter is posted.

Thanking you, as always, for your patience and your kind response to this story.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Stunned into silence, the only sounds on the bridge were the soft hum and whir of the computers and a single, stifled sob from the young officer manning the operations console. Uhura rose from her station.

"Do you need to be relieved, Ensign?" she asked kindly.

"No ma'am." The other woman drew in a shuddering breath. "I would like to stay. It's just… Ensign Delgado was a classmate, ma'am."

Uhura laid a consoling hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I understand. But if you change your mind, there's no shame." Turning back to her own station, her eyes met Sulu's who had assumed the command chair when Spock had vacated it to meet the captain. And though she had wanted nothing more than to abandon her own position and follow Spock to the transporter room, she remained at her post.

Sinking into her chair with a sigh, she did the next best thing and accessed the video feed from the transporter room on her console's monitor. She pressed her knuckles hard against her lips as she watched.

The landing party was gathered at the base of the transporter steps along with several medical personnel. Only Kirk remained on the receiving pad, stubbornly refusing to release Delgado, whose body dangled limply in his arms, long, black hair streaming toward the floor.

Spock was a quietly supportive sentinel at the captain's side while McCoy rested one hand on Kirk's shoulder. His head close to Jim's, he spoke so softly that only the three men on the platform could hear his words.

The captain's head was bent, eyes locked on the face of the woman in his arms. He twitched as something McCoy murmured penetrated the red haze of anger and despair engulfing him. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet the doctor's gaze. McCoy kept up a steady stream of chatter until Kirk finally nodded in response.

Spock motioned with one hand and the medics began to move up the steps but Kirk waved them off. He climbed down from the platform and gently transferred the burden he carried onto the waiting gurney, carefully arranging her limbs as if to make certain of her comfort.

The medics left with the body and Spock tipped his head toward the door to indicate that the others should also clear the area. He and McCoy remained behind for another few moments in silent support before they too quit the room.

Though Jim had no way of knowing, Uhura continued to watch over him as he lowered himself shakily to sit on the bottom step of the transporter pad. Alone, he folded his torso forward and pressed his face to his knees, clamping bloodstained hands behind his head. She knuckled tears from her eyes when she saw his back heave once, twice – until finally he lifted his head, blue eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Swiping the back of his arm over his face, he pushed up onto his feet, straightening his spine and tugging his uniform tunic into place. She watched his chest rise and fall as he drew in and released a long, bracing breath. And she was sure that she could feel her heart break as he settled his features into a remote mask before striding from the room.

xxxxxxxxxx

Uhura remained on duty well beyond the end of her shift to handle the influx of subspace communications flooding in as a result of the day's events. The ambassador had been beamed back to the ship with the rest of the landing party but had returned to the planet's surface as soon as possible in his capacity as intermediary between the Federation and K'aranga.

Though she was not an active participant in any of the conferences which took place, Spock had requested that she remain on the open channel unless ordered otherwise.

"I need your ears."

"Do you suspect this may have a negative impact on the captain?" she asked in disbelief.

He shook his head but there was a pinched look around his mouth.

"I cannot see how there would be any negative repercussion for the captain, but I would be more comfortable knowing that we have your meticulous notes to rely on, if necessary."

She flushed and nodded in agreement.

"And Lieutenant… please see to it that we maintain copies of both the audio and visual components of any meetings which take place."

"Aye, sir."

xxxxxxx

"Gentlemen." Admiral Chandra raised his voice to be heard over the others. "Please. Let us all try to remain calm."

The newly appointed ambassador nodded in agreement.

"Exactly. We must allow for all points of view to be heard if we are to find any kind of resolution after today's unfortunate incident."

"Un– Unfortunate _incident_?" Kirk growled. "Is that politically correct-speak for murder, Ambassador?"

"Captain." Remohe, the representative assigned by the Federation to the matter spoke. "Please."

Kirk lowered his hands to his lap and clenched them into fists out of sight of the monitor. The split screen showed Chandra back at Starfleet headquarters, Remohe at Federation headquarters and the ambassador and Nobu on the planet's surface.

His gaze wandered away from the monitor and traveled around the small conference room, lingering for a moment at the spot where Ensign Delgado had been seated earlier that morning. He winced as the bubbling and eager image he had of her was replaced in his mind's eye with that of her vacant gaze staring sightlessly into death.

A movement to his right caught his attention and he blinked, returning to the present. Spock's expression conveyed concern for his captain's state of being and Kirk's chin dipped in barely perceptible acknowledgment as he returned his focus to the conversation swirling around him.

"…misunderstanding." The ambassador was speaking again. "The treaty is in jeopardy. The K'arangan officials are – "

"I can't believe we are even still _considering_ moving forward," Kirk bit out.

"Kirk." Chandra's expression was sympathetic but his warning note was firm. 'Keep it together' he seemed to urge.

"Captain Kirk," Nobu interrupted. "There is no cause for such distress. I do not understand –"

"You… you don't under…" Kirk stuttered. "_Distress_?" He barked out an enraged laugh. "You don't understand why the cold-blooded murder of a member of my crew might _distress_ me?"

"There was no murder, Captain. We accorded your Ensign a great honor in helping her to achieve her destiny," Nobu explained patiently.

"By making her a sacrifice to your god?" Spock's tone was measured as always, but Kirk heard the underlying bite of anger.

"Not a sacrifice," Nobu countered. "We are not barbarians!" He sighed sadly. "I can see that you do not comprehend. The moment she arrived, we knew she was the One."

"The one?" Chandra parroted. "Please explain."

"Yes. As we told the captain and his party, she is the fulfillment of a great prophecy of our sacred texts. 'She will come in a swirl of starlight – M'ylana, the dark goddess, handmaid and helpmate to the lord,'" he quoted reverently.

"We have been awaiting her arrival for an eternity." A beatific look came over his face and he stared directly at Kirk. "We are indebted to you, Captain, for bringing her to us. You should rejoice. She now lives forever with our god."

"Admiral, we are not going to allow them to get away with this, are we?"

Kirk's jaw was stiff with rage at the implication that he had knowingly been a party in Delgado's murder.

"She was pleased. A willing participant in our ceremony," Nobu continued as if uninterrupted.

"So excited that you had to drug her to gain her cooperation?" Kirk snarled.

"I do not care for your implication, Captain," Nobu objected. "She was given a special elixir – one meant to purify her spirit and provide clarity of mind and purpose. But yes, it also contained properties intended to eliminate the natural anxieties any mortal would experience upon facing such a transformation."

"Yeah. Well your magic potion didn't work," Kirk said hotly. The sick recollection of the look of terror in Delgado's eyes as she silently pleaded with him for salvation was fresh in his mind.

"I believe the heart of this matter is whether the Ensign fully understood the ramifications when she volunteered to take part in your ceremony," Spock interjected. "And whether the drug she was given impeded her free will and ability to give or deny consent, even at the very end."

"We have no doubt that she fully understood and embraced her destiny. But in matters of our faith, a woman has no voice." Nobu's expression showed genuine confusion. "Regardless, this speculation is pointless as we had already obtained consent."

"From who?" Remohe demanded.

"From her male protector."

He looked directly at Kirk and the captain's head reared back as if absorbing a blow. The blood drained from his face and nausea burned a bitter path in his throat with the realization that he _had_, however unwittingly, delivered Delgado to her death.

TBC

A/N: The next chapter is fully written and just needs a final review and edit. It will be posted this weekend. And then, I think, only one final chapter to wrap it all up.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Hours later she found him hunched forward in a chair, head dipped down to his chest, fisted hands dangling between his legs. The quiet hiss of the door signaled her entry into his quarters and he glanced up briefly before returning his attention to the carpet between his booted feet.

She hesitated before moving closer. He was bare-chested and as she crouched on the floor at his feet, she noted a blood-splattered gold tunic lying in a ruined heap in one corner of the room. She shivered once with relief that the blood was not his.

"I wanted to be here sooner." She sat back on her heels and ducked her head in an attempt to catch his eye.

"No." Unrelieved tension thickened his voice. "I need to know that my best people are at their stations during a crisis."

"Jim." She whispered his name and he finally dragged his gaze up to meet hers, his expression bleak. She pressed her hands against his knees and moved between them.

"What can I do?" Helpless in the face of the raw agony etched on his handsome features, she skimmed her fingers over his cheek in a gentle caress.

"I don't know what happened," he confessed hoarsely. "I missed some sign, some clue… I've been sitting here trying to figure out where I went wrong." Confused misery dulled the normally vivid blue of his eyes.

She shifted closer. "I don't think there was any way to know," she murmured. "There was nothing in any of the briefs compiled by Starfleet; nothing in our own research to indicate this was even a possibility. When it became evident that the Enterprise was traveling to K'aranga, Delgado was so excited. She did such an exhaustive study of their culture that she had become an expert on them – and even _she_…

Emotion tightened her throat and her voice trailed off helplessly.

"Is that what I should tell her family? Oops? We didn't know that your daughter's unfortunate resemblance to a mythical goddess would get her killed? Or maybe I should just say that I'm sorry I accidentally gave permission for them to murder her?"

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't take it out on you." Exhaustion slurred his words.

"She was only twenty-two years old." He stated it as if decades separated him from the ensign, instead of only a few short years.

"I know." She rested her cheek against his thigh and closed her eyes. She knew the overall youth and inexperience of the ship's crew was a pressing weight on its captain – especially when he was forced to order them into a dangerous situation. He worried over injuries caused to any member of his crew, mourned the loss of all life, but never more so than when a person's life was cut short before they even had an opportunity to begin to shine.

"What were they thinking?"

She had to strain to hear the softly spoken words. Resting her chin on his knee, she tipped a questioning face up to his.

"Who?"

He leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm barely a year out of the Academy. I should be a rookie officer under someone else's command," he whispered. "Not the captain of a constitution class vessel – let alone the fleet's flagship!" His voice was thick with emotion as every one of his insecurities arose to mock him.

She rose to her knees, pressing a finger against his lips. "I want you to listen to me. There was no possible way you could have anticipated what happened down there. And a more experienced captain would have gone into the same circumstances every bit as blind."

"But a seasoned officer with more diplomatic experience might have been able to diffuse the situation before…"

She thought of the dizzying speed at which everything had happened and slowly shook her head from side-to-side to refute his argument.

"I don't know that even the most experienced admiral could have prevented this tragedy," she insisted. "Everything happened so quickly. And without being provided the necessary intelligence beforehand, how could you hope to have an opportunity to change the outcome?"

He rolled his forehead against hers and breathed out a quietly defeated sigh.

"She was gone before I could get to her." He closed his eyes against the memory of the stunned expression frozen on the young officer's face. "And still I told her that I would make it my life's mission to keep the K'arangans from joining Starfleet – even if I had to dismantle the Federation to do so."

He barked out a bitterly self-mocking laugh. "Grand promises from a man who couldn't even keep her safe."

His lower lip trembled once and he pressed a tightly clenched fist against it.

"But despite what happened today, plans are going to continue to move forward to welcome them into the Federation aren't they?"

She felt a tight pressure in her chest and wondered how many times in one day a heart could break. For here lay his greatest strength as well as his primary weakness. He had a unique ability to turn a near-desperate situation into victory by bending rules to suit his needs and finding answers in blurred shades of gray. But he also had a rigidly-held inner moral sense of what was right and what was wrong – a trait which many would not easily ascribe to him. His inability to see beyond his own clearly delineated lines of black and white oft-times prevented him from accepting the nuances of the bigger picture as defined by the Federation. And though she understood Starfleet's insistence that he acquiesce to their priorities in these instances, she worried that such capitulation would eventually strip him of the very thing which set him apart from other officers.

"Yes, I believe so," she agreed reluctantly. "They've invested a lot of time and –"

His shoulders slumped in defeat. "And it doesn't hurt that K'aranga is rich in natural resources which can be exploited."

She winced at the bitterness coating his words. Knowing that anything she said to the contrary would fall on deaf ears, she sought to offer words of comfort rather than of reason.

"I wish I had been there with you."

Stark terror at the mere thought choked him. He clamped strong hands around her arms and hauled her close to his face. "I'm glad you weren't there," he growled. Barely leashed anger darkened his voice.

Her head reared back in startled reaction and he swore softly, easing his punishing grip with a whispered apology.

She felt a shudder ripple through him and surprise gave way to compassion. Wrapping her arms around him, she buried her face against his throat. She breathed in his scent, taking her own comfort in the steady rise and fall of his chest as she remembered the iron taste of fear in her mouth hours earlier when his strangled shouts of terror and rage had echoed over her comms link.

His arms crept around her, fingers tangling in her ponytail.

"I'm glad you weren't there," he repeated as he drew silken strands of her hair to his lips. He swallowed hard against a surge of emotion and she felt his Adam's apple bob against her cheek. Lifting her head, she rubbed her knuckles over his bristled jaw.

"Jim." His name was a whisper on her lips and she watched his gaze narrow on her face.

He moved then, his mouth crushing down on hers – hot, hard. Demanding. She gasped and he took advantage, his tongue pushing past the barrier of her teeth, invading the wet heat of her mouth.

She threaded her fingers into his thick hair and pressed her body to his, straining to be closer and then suddenly he was urging her to the floor.

Her startled gasp seemed to incite him further. His fingers tore the elastic band from her ponytail, his hands spearing into the heavy mass of her hair, holding her captive as his mouth mated hungrily with hers. She groaned, her hips instinctively arching toward his as he settled over her, crushing her between the weight of his body and the hard floor.

His need was like a living, breathing entity, and she felt a frisson of fear that it would consume her whole. Her breath caught in her throat at the suddenness of his ardor, while shock and little tendrils of excitement vied for supremacy within her.

She knew the very moment when the last fragile hold on his control snapped. Rough hands shoved at the skirt of her uniform. His need lashed out like a flame and her skin heated, flushed by the intensity of the onslaught of his desire. She raced to keep up with the rapid change in him from aching vulnerability to demanding lover.

Impatient fingers clawed at the simple white triangle of cotton covering her hips, rending the delicate fabric in his haste. She tore her mouth from his and arched her neck, drawing in much needed air.

"Please." He panted the word against her throat. "I need – Please…"

She squirmed, wedging her hands between them and struggled to unhook the fastening of his trousers. Long, slim fingers dipped beneath the loosened fabric, caressing him, freeing him, and her name escaped his lips on a tortured breath.

Mad for her, need roaring like an inferno in his ears, he mindlessly sought physical solace in her. Hands clinging to his shoulders, she sucked in a breath as he plunged into her and released it on a surprised hiss as her body scrambled to adjust and accept the sudden invasion of his.

Compassionate tears sprang to her eyes, for the sound which escaped him when they were fully joined was not a cry of pleasure, but instead one of agonized relief. He buckled, his full weight coming down to rest on her.

One second ticked by after another. She stroked a hand over his back and felt a new tension coiling as the muscles beneath her fingers bunched. He shakily raised himself onto one elbow and gazed down on her with a look of mounting horror.

"Oh," he breathed. "God, no. No-no-no-no-no," he chanted, his head jerking from side-to-side. He tried to pull away but, quickly interpreting the anguish written on his face, she raised her legs, curling them around his hips and locked her ankles to thwart his withdrawal.

"Jim, no." Her hands framed his face, refusing to allow him to turn away from her. "I know what you're thinking," she said in the face of his anxiety. "But you're wrong,"

"You didn't hurt me." She forced herself not to overreact to his growing panic. Her expression was calm, her voice soothing. "You did not hurt me," she repeated.

"I was too rough." Misery thickened his voice. "I didn't think… didn't ask." He had been consumed by a primal need to mate with her. To lose himself in her.

"I wasn't thinking of you," he choked. "Of what you wanted – or even _if _you wanted... I'm sor- so sorry. Please forgive me." He tried again to pull away but she tightened the silken vise of her hands and legs and refused to release him.

"What I wanted was to give you comfort. And to take comfort from you." She curled one hand behind his neck and pressed gently. Obeying her silent command, he lowered his head to her shoulder, tentatively sinking into her insistent embrace, though his muscles remained knotted with unrelieved tension.

"You have enough burdens to carry." She turned her face into his hair and pressed a kiss against the top of his head. "Don't take on responsibility for things you didn't do – or things you had no control over."

He knew she was speaking not only of what had just transpired between them, but of the tragedy which had taken place earlier that day. Her advice was sound, but he had no idea of how to go about doing as she suggested.

Once upon a time, he could have done so with ease. The man Pike had almost literally scraped from the floor of a bar had been one comfortable with shirking responsibility and hiding behind alcohol, women and a series of dead-end jobs.

His inability to resist the older man's challenge had been coupled with a desire to erase the scorn he had seen on the face of the beautiful young cadet he had met earlier that evening. And so he had set out to prove Pike right and Uhura wrong. He had remade himself and his reward for doing so was the Enterprise.

But with reward came responsibility. He now held the fates and lives of hundreds of people in the palm of his hand. And though many would – and did – consider his judgment rash and impulsive, in reality he felt heavily the weight of command.

She tightened her arms around him and brushed her lips against his once, then drew him into a deep kiss. Buried inside her, he was still hot and hard and she tilted her hips in silent invitation that they finish what he had started, but the mood had been shattered. He shifted his weight and she reluctantly allowed him to disengage. Flopping onto his back, he threw one arm over his eyes and heaved out a shuddering sigh.

She sat up and tugged down the hem of her skirt. Crouching beside him, she reached for both his hands.

"Come with me." She stood and reluctantly, he rose to his feet.

She led him into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He obeyed her wordless instructions to strip out of the remainder of his disheveled clothing and joined her in the cramped stall. She wound her hair up in a quick and messy knot on the top of her head and maneuvered them so his height shielded her from the direct spray while allowing the hot water to pour over him, relieving some of the tightness coiling his muscles into tense knots.

She poured a generous amount of liquid soap into her hands and slicked them over his chest and down his arms. Humming softly, her touch was gentle, meant to comfort, not arouse; a ritual bath intended to cleanse – body, mind and spirit.

His upper body swayed drunkenly back and forth as she lifted her hands to his head, massaging thick lather into his hair. Greedy for her touch, he stood docilely as she kneaded the tightly corded tendons at the base of his scalp and she felt a lessening of her own tension as she noted the easing of the furrow between his brows and the deep grooves etched on either side of his mouth for the first time that evening.

His hand, heavy and warm, settled over the back of her neck; the other curved possessively on her hip. She curled her arms around him and nestled her cheek against his chest. Twined together, billowing clouds of steam rising around them, they drew comfort from the quiet of the shared moment.

x

He lurched unsteadily across the room and collapsed facedown onto the mattress in an exhausted heap. Dimly aware when she joined him a moment later, he made a heroic effort to shift onto his side to face her. Her fingers toyed with the light scattering of golden hair sprinkled over his chest and she stared at him from across the short expanse which separated them.

Aware of her concerned gaze, he graced her with a weary smile, watching as she stifled a yawn in the pillow beneath her cheek. He smiled again when she blinked rapidly in a futile effort to keep her eyes open.

"It's okay." He traced a fingertip over the arch of her eyebrow. "Go to sleep. It's been a long day."

An unladylike snort escaped her and the brow beneath his finger winged up with comic swiftness in response to the obviousness of his statement.

"Yeah, yeah." His lips quirked in wry reaction and his eyes narrowed with mock fierceness. Her answering grin was ruined by the second, even wider yawn which escaped her.

"Go to sleep," he repeated. "That's an order."

The lightness of the moment helped ease the anxiety which had kept her knotted up for most of the day. Her hand slipped from his chest and came to rest on his bare hip.

"Aye, Captain," she murmured as heavy lids fluttered closed.

Weary beyond measure, but unable to shut off the thoughts darting about in his head like fireflies on a hot summer's night, he winnowed his fingers through her hair, his gaze fixed on her lovely face as she slid more deeply into sleep. Twining an ebony lock around his finger, he winced as an image of dark hair spilling over blood splattered green robes flashed into his mind and felt a surge of crippling relief that _this_ woman had been safely aboard the _Enterprise_.

Shifting closer, he pressed his lips to her forehead.

"I love you," he murmured against her brow. "I know you'd rather I didn't, but I do. And I need to say it out loud, just once. Even if you aren't awake to hear it."

She sighed and shifted onto her other side, away from him, and he told himself not to read anything into it. He ordered the light off and tugged the sheets over them. Curling his body protectively around hers, he slid into a troubled sleep.

_He can't hold back a smile as the eager K'arangan women lead her up the stone steps to the platform beneath the statue of their god. A garland of native flowers is ceremonially draped around her neck, another crowns her hair which falls in a glorious raven curtain to her shoulders. _

_A sudden rush of excitement pulses through the crowd and an uneasy feeling skitters along his spine as the crowd shifts toward the stairs. He lifts a hand to the back of his neck as a ghostly tickle of dread makes the hairs stand on end. He takes an instinctive step toward her but the crowd surges forward again._

_He can't quite put a finger on it, but unease quickly turns into anxiety. He pushes into the crowd, vaguely aware of the startled reaction of the security team as they follow. He notes the sluggishness of her movements, at distinct odds with the normal gracefulness of her gait as the priest reaches for her hands and leads her up the final step._

_She is docile as she is lifted onto the stone table at the base of the statute and horror slicks his skin with sweat when he realizes that the table is, in reality, an altar. His voice is hoarse as he screams for them to stop. He gestures desperately for security to draw their phasers but the crowd is deep and the air is throbbing with excitation and they cannot get close enough._

_She turns her head toward him, dark eyes dulled by whatever drug they have fed her but nonetheless alive with terror. Her expression pleads with him to help her. To save her. To do _something.

_He breaks through the crowd. Sunlight glints off the blade as it is held aloft and he is blinded for a split second before it plunges into her heart. _

_Her beautiful features contort in surprise and agony and he watches in despair as the light in her eyes slowly dims and blinks out. _

_The delirium of the crowd rolls over him like a wave and he is driven to his knees as her name is torn from his throat on a wild cry of grief._

"_NYOTA!" _

He came awake with a start. Lurching upright, his head whipped toward the woman lying peacefully at his side. Cringing, he gingerly pressed his ear to her chest, relief surging through him as he listened to each beat of her heart and he took solace in the steady rise and fall of her chest.

Sitting up, he scrubbed rough hands over his face. Bile rising in his throat, he staggered into the bathroom and lost the contents of his stomach. Cupping his hands under the running faucet, he scooped cool water over his face and rinsed away the vile taste, though the bitter remnants of the nightmare remained.

Shaky legs carried him back to the bed. He sank to the floor, shivering as the sweat coating his skin slowly dried and kept watch over her for the rest of the night.

TBC

A/N: I don't know that this note is even necessary. But lest there be any confusion… my intent in the scene above was to portray that the moment between them was less about a desire to make love and more about the strength of his need to seek solace and lose himself for a few minutes in their physical joining and her surprise at his urgency. It is his heightened state of emotions that leads to his overanxious reaction that he had taken without asking, or possibly hurt her as a result and nothing more.

I have written and re-written; edited and re-edited the scene in question in an effort to convey my intentions clearly. I hope it plays out in the written word the way it did in my head so that you, the readers, are not as confused as our poor Jim was.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Nyota awoke the next morning to an otherwise empty bed. Pointing her fingers and toes, she stretched luxuriously and reached a hand toward the other side of the mattress to find sheets which were cool to the touch. He had been awake for a while she surmised and listened closely for any sign that he was nearby. Dragging his pillow into her arms, she breathed in deeply, drawing his scent into her lungs.

He loved her.

Emotionally and physically exhausted by the long day, she had been drifting in that pleasant place between sleep and wakefulness but she had heard the words he whispered in the dark. Felt the power of them surge through her and had hugged them to her as possessively as he had clasped her in his arms.

She had wanted to say the words herself. The pulsing fear she felt as she had listened to his shouts from the planet's surface and the acknowledgment of the danger in which they so often lived their lives had inspired her to give up the silly notion of waiting for him to admit his feelings first. She had thought she would tell him when she walked into his quarters last evening. But then she had been caught up in consoling him, and concern that he would misinterpret them as empty words of comfort or pity had caused her to hold the declaration back for another time.

Now, she could not wait to see him. To tell him of her own feelings. A wide smile spread over her face. Despite the horror of the previous day, she could not stop the happiness that flooded through her.

Eager to find him, she flung away the sheet and rose from the bed. She moved quickly through her morning ablutions. Grabbing a uniform from his closet, she tugged the red material over her head. Her hair – unruly from having slept with it still damp from the shower – was scraped back into a low bun at the nape of her neck.

"Computer," she called around a mouthful of hairpins. "Locate Captain Kirk."

"The captain is in the officers' mess."

Jamming the last pin into her hair, Nyota left his quarters

The mess was crowded with officers preparing for the morning shift. Sweeping her gaze over the room, she was surprised to find him at a small table tucked into a shadowy corner rather than at his usual center spot where he could easily interact with his staff.

He was hunched over a cup of coffee and even from where she stood she could see that the forbidding glower on his face had everyone maintaining a safe distance. Grabbing a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of herbal tea, Nyota crossed the room and set her tray down on his table.

Feeling suddenly shy, she offered a hesitant smile.

"Good morning." She slipped into the other chair.

Cradling his cup between his hands, he glanced over at her. Fatigue was evident in the dark bruises smudging the fragile skin beneath his eyes and in the lines etched between his brows.

Staring into the clouded blue of his eyes, she tried to gauge his mood. Her fingers toyed nervously with a spoon and she felt the giddy happiness evaporate as suddenly the distance between them seemed to be a much greater expanse than the width of the table that separated them.

"Did you get any sleep?" she asked with tender concern.

He studied her in silence for a long – painfully long – moment and she was unable to decipher the emotions swirling in his eyes.

"I'm okay," he finally said. "But I'm late." Rising, he drained his cup in one long gulp.

His hand hovered over her shoulder for a second before he awkwardly snatched it back to his side.

"I'll see you later."

Stunned by his abrupt departure, she stared blindly down at the table and pushed away her tray. The sudden knot of tension taking up residence in her stomach left no room for an appetite.

x

"Uhura. Do you have a minute?"

Nyota glanced up from her conversation with Christine to see McCoy gesturing to her from across the med bay.

"Of course."

Curious, she followed him into his office.

"Close the door and have a seat." He waved a hand toward the chair on the other side of his desk.

"You want something to drink?"

He fiddled with a small replicator and ordered up a cup of coffee for himself.

"No… thank you." She perched on the edge of the hard chair and watched as he doctored the coffee to his taste.

"Damn swill," he muttered after the first sip. "We can achieve transwarp beaming but military coffee is as bad as ever."

She smiled dutifully at his joke and waited for him to speak.

"Can I help you with something, Doctor?" she finally prompted.

"We're off duty, Nyota. No need for formality. I just wanted to talk with you about Jim."

She blinked, startled. No one other than Christine had ever spoken with her about Jim in such a familiar manner.

"You want to talk with me about the captain?" she hedged.

"Now, I admit you've both been very discreet," he acknowledged with a pointed look. "But even I can see that the two of you have been… 'keeping company' so to speak."

She couldn't hold back a smile at the old-fashioned turn of phrase and he grinned in response.

"Look." He adopted a more serious expression. "I don't like to pry into the personal lives of the crew, but you have to understand that the captain's life is not entirely his own. There are a lot of people who take interest."

She frowned. "I know he's a bit of a media darling…"

McCoy snorted. "Oh, Lord. Those jackals! They do love our Jimmy. The hero's son turned hero himself. How could they resist?"

"I think we're pretty safe from them out here," she pointed out.

"We are," he agreed. "But that's not what I was getting at." He propped his arms on the desk and leaned toward her.

"A starship captain's life is under more scrutiny than you know."

"Are you warning me off, Leonard?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Simmer down and listen. More than any other member of a crew, Starfleet has a vested interest in their captains. Their health, their well-being – their state of mind – is of paramount importance."

He leaned back in his chair.

"Something's bothering Jim. So I asked you in here to see if you could shed any light on it what's going on with him." He held up his hands in a peaceful gesture. "That's all."

Chastened, she sat back.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You know it's my duty as the CMO of this ship to keep a close eye on him – but mostly my concern is as his friend."

"I understand, Leonard. I shouldn't have jumped down your throat," she said sheepishly.

She blew out a breath and tried to relax.

"I'm not imagining it, am I?" McCoy asked. "Something is off with him. You see it too, don't you?"

"Yes. He's been acting…"

"Remote."

"… distant."

They spoke at the same time and nodded to one another in full agreement.

"It started with Ensign Delgado's death," she ventured.

He grunted in agreement.

"He's been withdrawn ever since," she admitted. "He was very…" She groped for the right word. "… distraught by the Federation's decision to continue to move forward to welcome the K'arangans."

"I know." McCoy took a sip of his cooling coffee. "He sees it as a defeat."

"I can't help but wonder if what happened down there – his inability to save her and the fact that there were no repercussions…" Her voice trailed off for a moment as she gathered her thoughts.

"Maybe he sees this as the no-win situation he was always sure he could outflank. I'm afraid that it killed – or badly wounded some vital part of him."

McCoy's brow furrowed and he mulled over her words.

"I don't know," he frowned. "I think there's more to it than that. He's brooding but he's not showing any outward displays of anger – and, let's be honest. Jim has never been good at hiding his temper."

He studied her over the rim of his cup.

"No." He grimaced. "I get the feeling that there is something deeply personal about whatever is going on in his head right now. He's pulling away from everyone who is close to him."

He rubbed his hand over his jaw.

"I hate to ask but… have the two of you been arguing?"

Her head snapped back in kneejerk reaction.

"No!" she exclaimed quickly. Perhaps too quickly, she realized as she took note of McCoy's knowing gaze.

But it _was_ true, she thought. They had not been fighting. In fact, if she were to be completely honest, they had not been doing much of anything together. Though she was not comfortable confiding such intimate details with the doctor, the truth was that Jim had barely touched her in well over a week.

Gone were the small things she had begun to cherish. The absentminded winnowing of his fingers through her hair; the wicked humor which could tease a laugh from her on even the most trying of days. All lost to the battle going on inside him.

Whatever it was, he seemed determined to deal with it on his own. So, gone too were those moments of quiet confidences between them when he would share his concerns and frustrations with her.

As for sex, she thought with quiet frustration, he suddenly seemed uncommonly consumed by paperwork. He spent long hours each evening – longer than usual – sitting at the small desk in his quarters, face buried in his work until finally she gave up and bid him goodnight. Only when he thought she was asleep did he join her in the bed.

She caught him watching her at times with an expression so profoundly sad, it shook her to the core. And, fearing its cause, she had taken the cowardly route and pretended not to notice the difference in his behavior – afraid that acknowledging it would mean a death knell for their relationship.

And now here she sat while Leonard McCoy ripped the blindfold from her eyes and forced her to confront the truth. It seemed likely that whatever the cause of the captain's current unhappiness – she was at the root of it.

Her stomach clenched as she noted the sympathetic look on the doctor's face.

"Jim's overdue for his physical," McCoy said. "I'll get him in here and drag whatever's wrong outta him.

He reached across and laid a warm hand over hers.

"Nyota." His fingers squeezed hers reassuringly. "Don't worry too much. It's gonna be alright."

She nodded and forced a smile onto her face. But she thought of that 'I love you' whispered in the dark and couldn't help but wonder how they had gotten from there to here in the blink of an eye.

TBC

A/N: I initially thought this would be part of the last chapter of this story but I carved it out because the chapter was simply growing too long. I have the bare bones of the next two or three scenes. Depending on how long they turn out will determine how many chapters remain. My guess is two.

I admit that I'm being plagued by a concept for a vignette (or series of vignettes) gen in nature, set immediately after ST:ID and it's the jotting down of those ideas so I don't forget them that is getting in the way of just writing the end to this one.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Bones!"

Irritation clearly visible in every tightly held line of his body, Jim Kirk ducked into the med bay a few days later.

"I'm busy," he said as he strode toward the doctor. "Can't this wait?"

Unperturbed, Leonard McCoy folded his arms over his chest and leveled a patient look at his friend.

"You're off duty," he noted. "And for once, things are quiet." He resisted the urge to knock on a piece of wood to ward off the jinx he was sure he had just invoked and rolled his eyes at the futility of the thought. To the best of his knowledge there was not a single bit of wood anywhere to be found on the gleaming ship. He made a mental note to track down a block of wood next time he was on shore leave. Maybe he could leave it in his desk and indulge his superstitions in the privacy of his office…

Stifling a snort at his own nonsensical thoughts, he patted an inviting hand on the padded cushion of the nearest biobed.

"Why don't you just hop on up here and we'll get this over with," he suggested amiably. "You know, if you would just keep your appointment as scheduled, I wouldn't have to hunt you down and practically have you dragged in here. I was thinking about sending Security after you."

Kirk huffed out an irritated sigh and did as he was told.

"I sometimes wonder who really is in charge around here," he grumbled.

"Shirt off and lie down!" McCoy barked with his usual gruffness.

"And for your information..." He trained his eyes on the captain's vital signs as they began appearing on the overhead monitor and scribbled notes onto the PADD in his hands. "You're in charge of everyone else on this bucket of bolts and I'm the lucky bastard in charge of _you_."

Because he intended to squeeze a great deal more information out of the captain than just his vitals during this visit, he aimed a grin at his friend to soften his words and was pleased to see Jim's lips quirk upward in response.

"Yeah, that does make you a lucky bastard," the younger man agreed as he submitted to having a blood sample drawn. And, because the exam was routine, it was completed in relatively short order.

"Come on." McCoy tossed Jim his shirt thirty minutes later. "I'll buy you a drink."

Kirk tugged the gold tunic over his head and hesitated before deciding to take his friend up on the offer. If nothing else, it would buy him some time before he had to head back to his quarters where he knew Nyota was likely awaiting him.

He followed McCoy into his office.

"So, Bones," he asked as he dropped into the visitor's chair with his usual loose-limbed grace. "Am I gonna live?"

McCoy pulled a bottle of bourbon and two glasses from the depths of one of his desk drawers. He poured two fingers of whiskey into each glass and shoved one across the desk before glancing down at the PADD and scrolling through his notes.

"You'll do," he drawled as he took a sip from his glass. "But…"

"But?" Jim knocked back his drink in one gulp and slapped the empty glass onto the desk. He closed his eyes and sighed as the whiskey heated a path from his throat to stomach.

"You wanna tell me why you're not eating?"

"Who says I'm not eating?" Kirk nudged the empty glass toward the doctor and raised his brows meaningfully.

McCoy finished his own drink before dutifully pouring another measure into both glasses. He jabbed a commanding finger toward the other man.

"Sip that one," he ordered before returning to his preferred topic of conversation.

"For one thing, you've lost weight."

"Are you or are you not always preaching the merits of watching one's caloric intake?" Jim smirked.

"Over six kilos since the last time you were here to be patched up." McCoy coolly stared at his friend over the top of his glass. "That's a lot of weight to lose in a few weeks. Especially when you're not trying."

He consulted his notes again.

"You're also slightly anemic _and_ deficient in vitamins B-12, D and E." He ticked the items off on his fingers. "Any or all of which are the basis of my theory that you're not eating properly."

He stacked his feet on his desk and leaned back in his chair.

"I also think you're not sleeping."

He held up a forestalling hand when he saw the captain open his mouth to interrupt.

"Your blood pressure is slightly elevated. And if it weren't for the huge, dark circles under your eyes, you would have no color in your face."

He shoved the data pad to one side and propped his chin on one hand.

"Each thing on its own is not overly alarming." He tapped a finger on the PADD. "But taken together and considering that they are all out of the range of normal for you…" He shrugged and let the thought trail off. "So, again, I find myself wondering what the hell is going on with you."

Jim's gaze was fixed on some point over McCoy's shoulder.

"I'm fine, Bones."

"You know, Jim." McCoy stared thoughtfully into the amber colored liquid in his glass. "We've been friends for a long time now. Good friends," he pointed out. "And I've also been your doctor during all that time. So I like to think I know you pretty well. Probably better than anyone else."

He lifted his eyes from the study of his drink and pinned them onto his friend.

"You can deny it all you want, but as your friend – and as your doctor – I _know_ that something is wrong. And it is both my professional and personal opinion that you need to stop bottling up whatever it is and talk about it."

Kirk continued to stubbornly avoid his friend's concerned gaze.

"So, I've lost a little weight and from that you've extrapolated that something's bothering me?"

McCoy huffed out a sarcastic laugh.

"Jim, _everyone_ knows that something is bothering you. Haven't you figured it out yet? As your mood goes, so goes the mood of the rest of the ship! And frankly, my friend, your mood is terrible. It's bad for morale!"

"I'm fine," the captain repeated through clenched teeth.

"Of course," McCoy mused as if Kirk hadn't spoken. "You could always talk to a counselor." He had the satisfaction of seeing his friend's attention finally shift to him.

"Bones –"

"Look, Jim," McCoy said softly. "We both know that I can make that an official diagnosis. And if I think it's necessary, believe me when I say, I will. But I'm asking you – as your friend – wouldn't it be easier to just _talk_ to me?"

Jim tipped his head back and drained the last of the bourbon. Closing his eyes, he rolled the empty glass back and forth between his palms.

While Bones patiently waited.

And waited.

"Nightmares."

Long moments later, McCoy's patience was finally rewarded.

"Do you want to tell me about them?" he asked gently.

"Every night," Kirk murmured. "For almost two weeks now, I have the same dream. Every. Single. Night."

McCoy could see the deliberately controlled rise and fall of his friend's chest. Jim was staring through him and the doctor knew he was deeply entrenched in the memories of his nightmare.

"What do you see in your dreams?" He kept his voice low and calm.

"I see them lead her up the steps and stretch her out on the altar. I try to get to her, but I can't." The glass slipped from Jim's hand and fell to the floor with a clatter but he didn't react.

"She's not fighting them, but she turns her head and she looks at me."

Kirk blinked and his gaze locked intently on McCoy's, no longer looking through him, but trying to make the doctor see what he does each night in his dreams.

"She looks at me and she's pleading with me to save her. And I can't. And I don't. And she dies."

He used the heels of his hands to angrily brush away the tears dampening his lashes.

"She dies and it's my fault."

"Because you couldn't fight your way through a crazed mob to get to her in time?"

"No!" He swiped an impatient hand through the air. "It's my fault because I took her with me. She wasn't supposed to be there," he whispered almost to himself. "But I wanted her with me…"

"Nyota," McCoy breathed in sudden realization.

Jim nodded.

"I wake up every night and I turn my head and she's there. Sleeping so sweetly and I'm happy to see her. I'm so grateful and it makes me sick to my stomach!" 

McCoy shook his head in confusion.

"I don't understand. Why wouldn't you be glad to know it was nothing but a bad dream?"

"It was a mistake, getting involved with her." Lost in his own thoughts, Jim ignored the question. "A mistake for me to get this close to anyone. I should know better. I should have known," he muttered.

"JIM!"

McCoy's voice lashed out like a whip and Jim blinked dazedly.

"I don't understand," Bones repeated. "You're going to have to explain."

Kirk gave his head a little shake as if to clear it.

"It's plain enough for me to see that you're in love with her," McCoy said. "Of course you would be relieved to wake up and find out that she was safe."

"It's not _just_ the nightmare," Jim explained slowly. "I can't stop thinking that it _could_ have been her. I wanted to take her with me that day. I had even considered adding her to the landing party but couldn't come up with a good reason why it was necessary for her to be there. Still, I figured that I'm the captain and sometimes that means I don't have to explain myself. Right?"

"Absolutely. So why didn't you?"

"Because I thought tongues might wag and she'd be pissed off that I was drawing attention to our relationship."

"She doesn't want anyone to know?"

McCoy could tell from the captain's moody shrug that he had hit on a somewhat sore spot so he stepped around the sensitive topic.

"Okay. Well, regardless, I still don't think I understand why you're beating up on yourself."

"Do you want to know what I was thinking while I was on that planet and that horror was taking place?" Kirk demanded angrily.

"Tell me."

"When I finally got to Delgado… after she was already gone… I just kept thinking 'Thank God it wasn't Nyota. It could have been her.'"

His eyes were burning with self-loathing.

"I was relieved, Bones. _Relieved_ that it was Delgado and not Nyota. What does it mean that I was glad that Delgado was dead? What kind of captain does that make me to want to protect one crew member over another? 

McCoy closed his eyes for a moment. There it was, he thought.

"It makes you a man," he told his friend. "It makes you a human being."

Kirk shook his head emphatically. "I can't do it," he said. "I can't love her _and_ be her captain. I have to find some way to end it between us."

"I should have listened to her when she said it was a mistake for us to become involved." He let out a bitter laugh and looked at the older man.

"She was afraid that if we ended our relationship, she would have to leave the _Enterprise_ because it would be too awkward for us to work together. And now I think she was right."

"I don't believe that," McCoy responded.

"I can't be her captain, Bones," Jim repeated in a reasonable tone. "I can't be the man who sends her into potentially dangerous situations… and I can't very well send someone in her place."

"Jim." Bones rose from his seat and came around the desk to place a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"What about me?" he asked. "Are you going to send me away too?"

Jim nodded. "That's a good idea," he agreed.

"And Spock? Sulu? Scotty?" McCoy pressed. "Are you going to send all of us away?"

Jim sagged in his seat and looked up with tired eyes.

"What's your point, Bones?"

"Listen to me. If Starfleet wanted dispassionate officers in the center chairs of its ships, they would not promote so many humans to the position."

McCoy's hand tightened on Kirk's shoulder.

"It's not supposed to be easy. But you're not just a captain. You're a man with all the flaws and frailties that come with being human. It's your job to make the hard decisions but it's our job to support you. The relationships you form with the people around are meant to anchor you. Spock helps you to see the logical side of the decisions you're facing. Nyota helps you to make them with compassion."

"And you're my common sense," Jim said with a ghost of his usual smile.

"That's right. And that's what I'm doling out right now – some good, old-fashioned common sense." McCoy tapped a finger against his own temple. "The fact that life and death decisions don't come easily to you is what makes you a good captain. Your crew is not just numbers on a page to you. Don't think that you can cut yourself off from caring about others just because it would be easier – or think that we will stop caring about you."

Jim's shoulders rose and fell on a long sigh.

"And one more thing," Bones continued. "Being glad that Nyota was safely out of danger does not mean that you were happy Delgado was dead. I was there with you when you beamed back to the ship." His voice was gruff with remembered emotion. "You were wrecked."

He scrubbed an affectionate hand through Jim's hair.

"You need to forgive yourself for being human, kid."

/

Kirk wandered around the ship after leaving the med bay, McCoy's words bouncing around in his head, vying with his own uncertainties for supremacy. When staring at the stars through a window on the observation deck did not yield an epiphany, he reluctantly made his way to his quarters.

The pneumatic door opened with a hiss and he stepped into a darkened room.

"Lights at thirty percent," he ordered. His gaze swept over the living space of his quarters. To his surprise there was no sign of Nyota and he felt twin pangs of relief and sadness.

He rubbed defensive fingers against the headache beginning to throb in his temples and made his way to the sleeping area.

She was perched on the edge of the mattress; her back ramrod straight, hands folded neatly in her lap.

"If this is over," she said in a low voice, not looking at him. "I wish you would just have the courage to say it."

"Nyota…" He rubbed a hand over his mouth, paralyzed at the realization that she was going to force things to come to a head.

"I can't take this anymore," she continued in the same low monotone. "One minute you tell me that you love me and the next you act like you can barely stand to be in the same room with me."

He felt a flash of irritation in the knowledge that she had heard his whispered declaration that night and had never said anything in response.

"I thought we were happy. I thought _you_ were happy." Dark eyes swimming with emotion, she looked up then and the brief surge of anger melted away as he watched her crumple onto the bed. Lying on her back, she stared at the ceiling and the silence between them was a crushing weight.

She blinked, a tear spilling over her lashes, and he fell to his knees beside the bed.

"Don't." He lifted a tentative hand toward her, wrecked at the sight of his stubborn, brave Nyota reduced to tears because of him. "Please, Nyota. Don't. I can't stand to see you cry."

Hesitantly, he perched on the edge of the bed and leaned over her. His lips ghosted over her cheek, sponging up another tear as it marked her skin with a silvery trail.

She turned her head toward him. "Even when we're in the same room, you seem to be so far away from me." Their faces were so close her lips brushed his as she spoke.

He stroked a thumb over her cheek, gathering up a fresh spill of tears. She made no sound and somehow it was the silence of her grief which tore into him. He chased each crystalline droplet with his mouth, lips glancing off her temple, skating over the high arch of her cheeks, tongue darting out to lap up the moisture suspended in the bow of her upper lip. He absorbed each tear as if he was trying to absorb the pain behind them.

Her lips trembled open.

"You're pulling away from me and I don't know why."

"Shh." He hushed her with a kiss. Swinging his feet onto the bed, he stretched out beside her. Propping his weight on one elbow, he leaned over her; skimmed his knuckles over her cheek and down the long, slim line of her throat. His fingers toyed with the uppermost button of her blouse and keeping his gaze fixed on hers, he slipped the first button free of its mooring.

Her tongue darted out to moisten suddenly dry lips and his gaze dropped to her mouth as his busy fingers moved inexorably from one button to the next. He pushed the soft fabric aside and slid a hand over the curve of her shoulder before lowering his mouth to taste the smooth skin.

She sighed, her head tipping back against the pillow in wordless encouragement that he continue his exploration. She didn't know what it meant – his sudden attention – but she ached with the need to be close to him.

He skimmed a single finger along the edge of her bra, tracing the pattern of the scalloped lace onto her skin and again a sigh trembled past her lips at the delicacy of his touch.

He flipped open the front hook of her bra and brushed the satiny cup aside. His thumb scraped over one nipple, bringing it to life and she groaned when he dipped his head to close his lips over the rigid peak.

She gasped, her back arching off the mattress and he stretched up to cover her mouth with his, swallowing the sound of her cries. Their lips met and clung in a series of endless kisses. Her fingers tangled in his thick hair, holding him captive as her mouth moved hungrily against his while his hands roved over her.

Tearing his mouth free of hers, he finished undressing her. Slowly. Taking his time. Making it last and caressing each bit of her warm skin as it was exposed.

Again, he lowered his mouth to her breasts. His jaw, roughened with a day's growth of beard, scraped the delicate skin as his tongue painted a lazy path over the plump flesh and in a straight line down the center of her torso, stopping to nibble at the whorl of her navel.

She tugged on his hair and he jackknifed up long enough to strip away his own clothing. She held out inviting arms and as he sank back into her embrace, they groaned at the delicious sensation of skin-to-skin contact.

"I missed you." She panted the words against his throat.

Stretching out full-length over her, he settled into the welcoming cradle of her hips. His fingers combed lazily through her hair, spreading it out over his pillows. She wrapped her legs around his hips, wanting to anchor him to her and never let go.

They rolled on the bed, fighting for domination. They touched and tasted, his mouth sliding wetly over the smooth curve of her hip, her teeth scraping delicately over the ridged muscles of his torso.

She floated, steeped in sensation, glorying in the weight of his body pressing hers into the softness of the sheets beneath her.

He raised his head, saw her dark eyes were glazed with desire and slid into her. Filled her. Burrowing his face into the curve of her neck, he threaded his fingers through hers and drew their joined hands over her head.

His name escaped her lips on a long, serrated groan and he pushed his hips against hers, burying himself deeply. They moved, rocking against the other; long, lazy strokes that pushed them closer and closer to the edge. Until finally, they fell.

/

After, they lay quietly tangled together in the dimly lit room. His weight still pressing her into the bedcovers, he shifted so that he was lying pressed alongside her and nestled his head against her breasts, listening to the comforting sound of her heart beating steadily beneath his ear.

"I can't help but wonder… was this goodbye?"

She felt his arms tighten reflexively around her in response to her low-voiced question.

"You've been so far away from me," she continued. "And I don't know how to reach you."

He pulled himself up and rested his head on a pillow while she shifted to face him and tucked her hands beneath her cheek.

"Won't you please tell me what's wrong?"

He smoothed her hair away from her face, capturing a lock between his fingers. He twined the silken strands around his forefinger and her heart skipped a beat at the aching familiarity of his absentminded caress.

"Is it about what happened on K'aranga?" she prodded.

His gaze darted away from her face.

"It's just something that I need to work out," he hedged.

"Something that involves me?"

Though he continued to avoid her gaze, his head bobbed in assent.

"Jim." She tapped a finger beneath his jaw until he lifted his gaze to meet hers. "If it involves me, don't you think I have a right to be part of the discussion?"

He hesitated, wondering how much of the truth to reveal.

"I've been having nightmares," he finally admitted.

Her eyes were dark and warm with sympathy.

"About Delgado's death." She laid a comforting hand on his cheek.

"No. About yours."

"Mine?" she exclaimed in surprise.

"If you had been with the landing party like I wanted…" He hissed out a breath as the nightmare images rose in his mind. "I can't stop thinking of how easily it could have been you."

Her lips parted in a silent "O" as understanding dawned.

"I have the same nightmare every night," he confessed. "Only, rather than seeing Delgado on that altar, I see you. And I can't save you."

"Oh, Jim."

She eliminated the few inches between them and drew him into her embrace. Unaware of the rest of the concerns which plagued him, she stroked loving hands over him. Petting and soothing him with her touch, she whispered assurances that she was fine; that she was right there with him and he didn't have to worry, until eventually they both slid into a troubled sleep.

/

_Nyota!_

Though he made no sound, he jerked awake with a violent shudder. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Jim."

She laid a hand on his back and ordered the lights to the lowest setting. Perspiration cooling on his skin, he shivered and she rose to kneel behind him. Pressing herself to his back, she rested her chin on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him.

"Tell me."

Cloaked in the near darkness of the room and emotionally raw with the remnants of the nightmare, the truth spilled from his lips.

"I love you," he whispered. "But I'm afraid that this is a mistake."

"You're afraid that _we're_ a mistake," she clarified. "Why?"

"Do you understand that every instinct I have screams to protect you?" His shoulders rose and fell beneath her chin in a silent sigh.

"How can I live with myself if you are injured or killed because of something I ordered?" He turned his head toward her and his eyes glittered in the faint light. "And how can I in all good conscience send someone in your place?"

"Every night I dream that you die because I sent you into danger." He twisted at the waist and cupped her face between his hands. "And every night I wake up and am weak with relief to find you safe in the bed beside me."

His thumbs stroked over her cheeks and his gaze roved hungrily over her face as if memorizing her features.

"I don't know how to be the man who loves you _and_ be your captain. I know that I should end things between us, but I'm selfish and I don't want to let you go."

She wrapped her hands around his wrists, felt the rapid beat of his pulse beneath her fingertips.

"Believe it or not, I do understand." She pressed her forehead to his and closed her eyes. "Every time you beam off this ship, I worry. I know it's not the same thing because you aren't out there on my orders. But it was agony for me to listen to you over the open comm the day Delgado died – to know there was nothing I could do to help. I watched you just plunge into that mob and was terrified something would happen to you."

Pulling his hands away from her face, she laid her head on his shoulder.

"I love you."

She felt a shudder ripple through him at her words and pressed a kiss to his skin.

"I love you," she murmured against his shoulder.

His hands settled on her waist and he hauled her onto his lap. She wound her legs around his hips.

"I should have said it before." She pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. "I'm sorry I waited."

Wrapped tightly in each other's arms, her breasts flattened against the wall of his chest, she laid her lips against his ear.

"I think we have something worth fighting for," she whispered. "Please. Don't give up on us."

TBC

A/N: Definitely only one more chapter to be posted which may total about two scenes. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with the story so far. I appreciate your patience and your kind notes.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Engrossed in the report he was reading, Jim Kirk did not at first hear the chime alerting him to an incoming message.

The computer chirped again with cheerful insistence.

"On screen," he ordered absently, his eyes skimming hastily over the remaining lines of the report.

"There's a sight I've rarely seen."

The familiar voice caught his attention and he looked up.

"Mom."

"Oh, if only you had shown as much diligence to your schoolwork as a child. You might've found a way to stay out of all the trouble you so often managed to get into."

Though her tone was bland, her eyes were alight with humor.

"School was boring."

She rolled her eyes at the familiar whine he had injected into his voice and he grinned.

"How are you, Mom?"

"I'm well. I just thought that since you haven't been in touch lately, I'd call you."

Her pleasantly voiced rebuke was meant to remind him that while he may very well be the youngest captain in the history of Starfleet, he was still her child and had more than just the admirality to whom he was expected to make regular reports. Her eyes swept over him with a mother's practiced ease, noting immediately the weariness around his eyes and the tension in his jaw and well knowing his stubborn nature – since he had inherited that trait from her – decided she'd work her way around to finding out the cause.

"How's my widdle baby boy?"

She chuckled, delighted to have elicited the reaction she sought as he instinctively hunched his shoulders and winced in response to her deliberately cloying tone and words. Remembering himself, he straightened his spine.

"Alright, Commander," he said in his best command voice. "Stand down."

His mock glare dissolved into a grin identical to the one wreathing her face. Though he looked like his father, his smile, like his sense of humor, was pure Winona.

She arched a brow.

"Enjoy pulling rank while you can, honey."

He propped his chin in his hand.

"Well," he said thoughtfully. "That's cryptic enough. What's up?"

"I actually did have a reason for calling –"

"Other than harassing me, you mean?" he snarked.

She shot him a look that had been effective at putting him in his place for most of his twenty-six years.

"I'm retiring from active duty."

"I… Wow!" He couldn't imagine his mother retired from the service.

"What are you going to do with yourself?"

"I'm going to teach."

His eyes widened. "At the Academy?"

She nodded. "Part-time Just two classes per semester in the beginning. It'll give me a chance to get my feet wet and see if I like it."

"You'll be great," he promised.

She blew out a breath. "I hope so."

"Are you nervous?"

"A little," she admitted. "But I'm excited too. And I'm looking forward to having more free time. I want to visit Sam, Aurelan and the baby before my first semester begins."

She smiled again. "Have you seen him?"

"Pictures." Jim shrugged. "Aurelan sent me a holo. He's a cute kid."

"I've been hearing rumors that the _Enterprise_ is on the short list for the five year deep space mission that everyone is buzzing about."

She saw a flare of excitement briefly illuminate his face before the weariness reappeared.

"Rumor is the operative word," he said. "Spock doesn't think we're likely to get it."

"And what do you think?" his mother asked.

"That Spock's probably right. They might have given us the newest ship in the fleet…" His shoulders rose and fell on a long sigh. "But I think our lack of experience will count against us."

"Well, I have a good feeling about your chances."

In truth, there was a knot of tension taking up residence in her stomach at the thought of her youngest child being so far out of reach for such a long period of time, but she hid her disquiet behind a cheerful smile.

"If you do get the assignment –"

"Mom."

"If you get it," she continued as if he had not interrupted, "you'll have to come home first, won't you?"

"Since no one has ever undertaken this kind of mission, I imagine that whatever ship is chosen, even the _Enterprise_, will have to spend time in space dock to have supplies laid in and to have some modifications performed. And, I would think the officers and crew will spend a lot of time being briefed by the brass."

"Well, then I'll expect you to take some leave and come home for a visit before you go." Her face brightened. "I'll tell Sam to come and bring Aurelan and Peter! We'll have a real family reunion and send you off in style."

He leaned back in his chair and studied his mother as she continued to chat with him. At fifty-five, Winona Kirk was still a beautiful woman. She no longer wore her hair in the long blonde ponytail he remembered from his childhood. Now it framed her features in a short, stylish cut. She wore her age well. And though he knew that the few lines on her face were well-earned by the tragedies and difficulties which had marked her life, it was the laugh lines around her eyes and mouth which most intrigued him.

"Mom." He interrupted her abruptly. "How did you – " He cut himself off. "Never mind."

Winona tipped her head to one side.

"You look tired, honey." She had been waiting for the opportunity to bring it up and leaped on it now.

"Do you want to tell me what's going on?" she continued. "You know you can ask me anything. Tell me anything."

He rubbed a hand nervously over the back of his neck.

"How… when you lost Dad, how did you deal with it?"

"Oh." She touched her fingers to her mouth in surprise. Jim had still been a little boy when he stopped asking questions about his father.

She moistened suddenly dry lips with her tongue.

"Badly," she said finally. "In the beginning, I handled it very badly."

"In what way?"

"Oh, honey. In every possible way." She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering.

"I was consumed with my own pain. For a long time, you and Sam had a zombie for a mother. I just… I just got through the days but I wasn't living. I did what I had to do – I made sure you and Sam were fed and clean and dressed but in almost every other way, I ignored you both…"

Her voice trailed off and she gave him a sad smile.

"The truth is that most of the first year of your life is a blur to me."

"Mom." He held up a forestalling hand. "I didn't mean to make you… I'm sorry. Let's change the subject."

"No. It's good. We've never really talked about any of this. And I can see that something is bothering you and maybe I can help."

"What changed? I mean, yeah, you were gone a lot – "

He flushed.

"I didn't mean it the way it sounded," he rushed to say. "I… you were off planet a lot working while I was growing up but you were never an absentee parent. Not the way you're describing yourself. Not to my memory."

Her lips curved, happy to know that in this, at least, she had not scarred him.

"What changed? Oh, it was…" Her eyes took on a faraway look. "It was summer and it was raining and I was standing in the kitchen cleaning up after breakfast, staring out the window at nothing but wet fields and mud and gray skies and hating my life."

She saw something ripple across his expression and knew that in this he was a kindred spirit, restless and always looking to the horizon.

"Then I heard you squealing in the other room and Sam giggling and I… it was such a happy sound…" Her smile was soft with remembrance.

_She followed the cheerful noise and found her boys in the living room. At eleven months of age, Jim was a sturdy, growing baby. He braced his tiny hands on the low table in front of the sofa and pulled himself to his feet._

"_Yay, Jimmy!" Sam sing-songed. "You did it. Now come here."_

_Sam knelt on the carpet and held out his arms. His fingers wiggled in encouragement. "Come on, Jimmy. You did it before. You can do it again."_

_The baby eyed the short distance between himself and his brother and determinedly stuck out one foot. He toddled forward on unsteady legs, closing the distance in tottering steps until he fell gleefully into his brother's waiting arms._

_Unaware of their mother's watchful presence, both boys laughed as Sam caught him._

"_That was great, Jimmy. You wanna do it again?"_

_The baby nodded so hard his hair flopped around on top of his head. "Do 'gen Sam. Do 'gen!"_

"_Okay. Okay. Hold your horses!" Sam giggled. He helped Jim up to his feet again and held his hands until the baby was steady, then changed directions and slid back toward the sofa._

"_Okay, Jimmy. Come on."_

_Jim set off with a burst of speed too fast for his feet. He wavered, chubby arms pin-wheeling for balance before his feet tangled and he plopped unexpectedly onto his rump. His eyes widened and filled with surprised tears._

_Winona took an instinctive step closer to the doorway but stopped as Sam hurriedly crawled toward his brother._

"_Hey, don't cry." The little boy patted his baby brother's back and stroked a hand over the downy tufts of blonde hair covering his head. "It's okay. Let's try again."_

_Jim's chest heaved once and his lower lip thrust out as he was caught between tears and the desire to keep playing with Sam. He let out a watery giggle as Sam made funny faces and wrapped pudgy fingers around Sam's hands as his older brother guided him up to his feet._

_Once more, Winona watched as Jim toddled toward his brother and when the boys erupted again in joyous laughter, could not resist the urge to join them._

"_Did you teach him to walk, Sammy?"_

_Both boys whipped their heads up at the soft sound of their mother's voice. Sam, old enough to be aware of the sadness that surrounded his once cheerful mother, nodded slowly._

"_I guess… should I have waited for you?" Worry that he had hurt her fragile feelings showed in the concerned face he tipped up toward her and she cringed at the realization of the weight he was carrying on his too young shoulders._

_Jim, his face still blotchy from the earlier tears, sat on the floor, popped two fingers into his mouth and began to suck on them furiously. Too little to understand the emotional currents swelling around him, but aware of them nonetheless, his head swiveled between his mother and brother, curiosity and concern reflected in his blue eyes._

"_Oh, no, Sammy. It's fine," she assured him. "You guys are having fun, huh?"_

_She lowered herself to the floor about three feet away from them._

"_Do you think he'll come to me?"_

"_Uh… sure." Sam's lips quivered into a cautious smile and he turned back to his brother._

"_Hey, Jimmy..." _

_Sam helped the baby back onto his feet and guided his hands to rest on the edge of the low table beside him._

"_Do you want to walk to mommy?"_

_Sam gave his brother an encouraging pat on his diapered rump and slid back to sit next to Winona. She felt her heart crack open as the baby cocked his head to one side, puzzlement clearly etched across his tiny features at the unfamiliar sight of his mother seated on the floor and seemingly waiting to play with him._

_Frightened to the core at the thought of being rejected by her baby boy, she fought the urge to scramble to her feet and race from the room. Instead, she settled herself more comfortably, crossing her legs before her and drawing Sam close to her side._

"_Hey, baby. Do you want to show momma how you can walk?" She held out one hand and crooked her fingers invitingly._

_Jim stared at her, considering, and she could feel the tension radiating off Sam. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and he nodded to his little brother._

"_Come on, Jimmy. Show mommy. Walk over here."_

_Jimmy smiled then. "Walk!" he crowed emphatically. "Walk! Walk! Walk!"_

"_Oh, no. That's his new word. He's gonna say it all day now." _

_Winona laughed as she heard Sam mutter with the disdain typical to older brothers, then turned her attention back to her youngest. _

_He took two steps and teetered. Sam and Winona leaned forward at the same time, but he regained his balance. A glint of determination shone in his bright blue eyes – the same glint which would later be the cause of more than one gray hair for his mother – and he stepped off again, wobbling across the few feet that separated him from them._

_He fell into their waiting arms with a triumphant laugh and the three of them rolled around on the floor in celebration. _

_Winona sat up and hugged her boys close. She drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the milky, powdery scent of her baby and the sharp clean smell of Sam - all little boy sweat and pilfered candy – and they spent the rest of that rainy morning playing together in the little farm house._

"I remember sitting downstairs alone after putting the two of you to bed that night and feeling the familiar sadness and anger come over me. 'George,' I said. 'You should have been here. You should have seen it.'"

The faraway look cleared from her eyes and she stared intently at her son through the view screen.

"And then, I swear to you, I heard your father's voice in my head. Speaking as if he was sitting right next to me on that sofa."

Jim swallowed against the sudden lump which had formed in his throat.

"What… what did he say?"

"He said, 'I _was_ here, Winnie. I saw him take his very first step. _You're_ the one who missed it.'"

She sighed. "He was right. I was there in that house with you every day and I missed so much. He was gone, but in that moment I knew that he was always watching over us. That he had seen _everything_. Including what a dismal failure I had become."

"Mom," he protested. "Don't."

She knuckled away a tear and gave him a watery smile.

"It's okay. It's true. He would have been ashamed of me. If the positions were reversed and I had seen your father floating through life, ignoring you and your brother the way I ignored you, I would have been so disappointed in him."

She took a deep breath.

"Is that what you wanted to know?"

"Sort of." His chest rose and fell on a long sigh and he cast his eyes around the room, searching for the right words.

"I guess… what I really want to know is how you… I mean." He licked his lips. "How did you adjust? I have to imagine that all of the plans you and Dad made together just flew out the window when he died. How did you go on? How did you regroup? How did you learn to live with it?"

"Oh, sweetie." She gave him a helpless shrug. "I guess…" She paused and ran a thumb over the ring George had given her which she now wore on her right hand. "What I came to realize was how blessed I had been to ever be lucky enough to have him in my life. I'm human, so I'm also greedy and I wanted more time with him. And I was angry, for such a long time I was so very, very angry to have him torn away from me like that."

"But would it have been better if I had never met him? Never loved him or been loved by him? Never had him give you and Sam to me? That night, I realized that he had never really left me. He had been there all along. Not only his spirit, but he was right there, in front of me, in you and your brother. You look so much like him. Sam sounds like him. I see him in the tilt of your head or in Sam's walk…"

Her smile was beatific.

"I believe that the people we love, the ones who go on before us, never really leave us. We have our lives to live. I wanted to curl up into a ball and die when he left. And for the better part of a year I effectively did just that. I didn't want to care about anyone. I closed myself off from friends who wanted to help. From my parents and your father's parents. I didn't want to love you and Sam. And more… I didn't want either of you to love me."

She leaned closer to the screen and her voice was soft, but urgent.

"Living in that fog was easier. I thought I was protecting myself. But you can't do that. You can't protect yourself from friendship. From love. I learned that you just have to live each day and embrace it. You can't go through life running from 'what if' and making decisions about life based on fear of loss."

He looked down, rubbing an agitated thumb over the glossy surface of his desk.

"What if the decisions you make means someone else could die?"

She lifted a hand toward the screen as if to stroke it over his hair.

"Are you asking me as a captain… or as a man?"

He shrugged helplessly.

"Both."

"Oh, Jim, the only thing I can tell you is that you can make all the plans you want. You can try to protect yourself but in the end, life is going to dole out what it's going to dole out and there's little you can do to prepare for the consequences."

"In all walks of your life, the only thing you can do is to make decisions based on the best information you have available. Live your life. Hope for the best, brace for the worst. If you make a mistake, learn from it. In the end, that's pretty much what life is all about."

She cocked her head to one side and studied her son's pensive face.

"Did that help any?"

He nodded slowly. "It's… it's something to think about."

"Good." She settled back comfortably in her chair.

"Now. Tell me about this girl you love."

The surprised look on his face was comical and she laughed out loud.

"Oh, Jimmy. I'm your mother. Haven't you learned by now that I know all? See all?"

He sighed ruefully. It had been a truism through most of his life and he guessed it hadn't changed. Probably never would.

"Well, she's smart," he started "Beautiful…"

A/N: Once again, I'm off base as to the length of this story. At ten pages I thought this was a good place to break. I mean it now when I say only one more (likely short) scene left and then we're outta here!


	12. Epilogue

In the end, he decided, it came down to this one simple fact: He was the son of George and Winona Kirk.

In his veins ran the blood of a man who had made the ultimate sacrifice in service of his crew and to protect the woman he loved as she labored to bring their child into the universe.

And in every fiber of his body was the DNA of a woman who had struggled with her demons and ultimately discovered a wellspring of strength allowing her to rise above a heartbreaking loss to carve out a life for herself and her children.

He had lived his entire life burdened by the expectations of others, that he be a reflection of his hero father. But it was through his mother's wisdom that he had come to the realization that his life was his own.

And, the life he had chosen meant that he may someday face decisions similar to those his father had. He prayed he would never find himself confronted with the same overwhelming losses as his mother. But he now knew that at his very core lay the gift of their combined strengths. He was learning that he could rely on his own determined tenacity along with the counsel and friendship of the people closest to him to help him through the good times as well as the dark times that were surely a part of the path he had chosen to travel.

He did not know what the future held, but he was not afraid to meet it head on…

/

Epilogue

She was sitting cross-legged on the small sofa in his quarters, reading when he entered the room. He dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head as he set down his gym bag and flopped onto the cushion beside her.

His hair gleamed damply in the light and she could smell the fresh citrus scent of soap which lingered from the shower he had obviously recently taken. His head fell back against the cushions and he closed his eyes, sighing contentedly as he toed off his shoes and stacked his bare feet on a low table.

Shifting, she propped an elbow against the back of the sofa and leaned her head against her fist. Her eyes swept over him and she could see a faint bruise forming high on his right cheek.

"Did you win?"

Hands folded comfortably over his stomach, his lips curled into a smile.

"Of course. Was there ever a doubt?"

"Well…"

One blue eye cracked open to level her with a warning glare and she pressed her lips together to hide the smile threatening to break loose.

"It's just… well, I've always wondered, you know…" She paused and examined her manicure closely. "Do you think you 'win-win'? Or do the others usually let you win because you're the captain?" she asked in a deadpan tone.

His mouth dropped open and he clapped a dramatic hand over his heart. "I can't believe you even _thought_ that, let alone said it!"

She pressed a fist against her mouth to stifle a giggle at the calculated look of wounded incredulity twisting his handsome features.

"You know," he sniffed. "I brought a little something back for you but now I'm re-thinking whether you deserve it."

"Oooh. But I like presents."

"Well, you might just have to go without this one," he suggested loftily. "Maybe that will teach you to curb your disrespectful tendencies."

Her narrowed gaze traveled over his lean length, searching for the tell-tale bulge of a hidden object tucked into a pocket but found nothing. Her eyes lit on the gym bag lying on the floor and she lunged forward.

"Uh-uh." He shifted quickly, his feet thumping to the floor as he moved to block her.

Changing tactics, she pressed a kiss to his beard-stubbled cheek and gave him a flirtatious smile.

"Please?"

He pursed his lips and gave her a considering look.

"Of course, you know I didn't mean it." Her eyes were wide with exaggerated sincerity.

"You're sooo brave and strong and powerful," she continued in a deliberately breathy voice as she stroked one suggestive finger down his chest and fluttered her lashes. "I'm sure the others positively quake in their shoes when they see you coming."

He gave a decisive nod. "That's what I thought you meant."

His stern look was ruined by the grin which trembled at the corners of his mouth before breaking free and they shared a laugh.

"Okay. Now that we've reestablished the proper respect you have for my awesomeness…" He leaned down and pulled a square container from his gym bag and held it out to her.

She flipped open the lid and peered inside.

"Huh."

"It's cake," he told her helpfully.

"Yes."

"_Chocolate_ cake," he clarified in the same helpful tone.

"It certainly is." Thick ribbons of fudge were sandwiched between layers of moist chocolate cake enrobed in a dark, decadent frosting.

"Um." She glanced up at him. "You shouldn't have?"

He shrugged and waved a hand as if it was no big deal.

"You told me once about how much you like chocolate so…"

She recalled a wish made on a candle and making love with him for the first time. Remembered a lazy day spent in bed with him. Those first hours of truly beginning to get to know one another had been filled with sex, sleep, food, conversation and laughter. So much had happened between then and now, she thought. That had been just about…

Her eyes lit with sudden realization of the date and she looked up, a growing smile wreathing her face.

"Aww, babe. You brought me an anniversary cake."

He ducked his head and gave her a shy smile, feigning bashfulness, the effect of which was ruined by the eager light in his eyes and the suggestive bobbing of his eyebrows.

She grinned, recalling her assertion that long-ago day of the effect chocolate had on her libido.

"Hmm," she said thoughtfully. "It's an awfully big slice of cake."

"I know," he said happily.

"And it's a _lot_ of chocolate."

"I _know_," he sighed lustily. "And it's all yours."

The generous offer was accompanied by another waggle of his thick brows and she laughed out loud.

"Oh, you're just so good to me. So kind and generous. Truly a selfless man."

He gave her a modest smile and she laughed again.

Swinging one leg over both of his, she settled onto his lap. The faded red cotton of her t-shirt hitched up, revealing smooth, bare thighs. Unable to resist, he laid one strong hand on her leg, long fingers curling possessively over the soft skin.

Holding the carton between them, she dipped a finger into the chocolate frosting and popped it into her mouth, noting the way his fascinated gaze followed her movements.

"Mmm."

He blinked dazedly at her throaty hum of approval and raised his eyes to hers.

"Good?" He shifted, uncomfortable in clothing that was suddenly too restrictive.

"Mmm-hmm," she purred.

He scooped up a dollop of frosting but before he could taste it, her hand shot out to stop him.

"Mine," she growled possessively.

Setting the carton aside, she wrapped restraining fingers around his wrist and drew his hand toward her mouth. His other fingers curled, reflexively cupping her jaw as she sucked his thumb into the warm, wet heat of her mouth.

Enjoying the salty/sweet combination of chocolate and him, she hummed again. The tiny vibration traveled through his arm, arrowed directly to his groin, and his hips arched helplessly beneath hers.

Her eyes were open, locked on his until he tore his gaze away to watch the suggestive slide of her wet mouth over his thumb and his libido jumped up and cheered in enthusiastic response.

"God," he groaned. "Kiss me."

Releasing his thumb from her mouth with an audible pop, she speared her fingers into the short thick strands of his hair and obliged him by dragging his mouth to hers. She pressed herself against him, straining into the kiss, straining into him. Wishing she could crawl inside him; wanting him to fill her.

Brutally aroused by the flavors of chocolate and his own flesh mingling with the taste of her, his fingers clamped around her thighs, holding her captive as his hips arched up to grind into her.

Her every sense was attuned to his hands as they streaked over her body. His fingers slid down to cover her breasts, his thumbs rubbing over the alert peaks hidden behind soft cotton and a faded baseball logo.

Breathing heavily, she tore her mouth from his. She saw the flush of arousal staining his cheeks; noted the fever-bright blue of his eyes. But beyond that, she saw the deep emotion swirling in his searching gaze, his love for her etched on his every feature.

"I love you," she murmured.

"I know."

The hint of arrogance in his words was belied by the profound joy written on his face.

Laying her cheek against his chest, she listened to his heart pound beneath her ear, its frantic thrum at odds with the soothing stroke of his hand over her spine.

Seeking relief from the ache building deep within her, she laid her lips against his ear.

"Take me to bed," she demanded softly.

Banding strong arms beneath her, he rose. She wound her arms and legs around him, her ankles locking around his hips.

He stumbled, shuddering as her busy hands slipped under his t-shirt, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his jeans to skim lightly over the sensitive hollow at the base of his spine.

"Wait." He turned back. "We forgot the cake."

"It's probably time for me to tell you the truth," she whispered.

His vision blurred as she nuzzled his ear, strong teeth nipping the tender lobe.

"Uh. Wha– " He cleared his throat. "What?"

He adjusted his grip on her as she leaned back to see his face.

"I lied to you," she told him, solemn-eyed.

His brow furrowed into a puzzled frown and he cocked his head questioningly to one side.

"When?"

She curled forward again, tightening her arms around his neck.

"It wasn't the chocolate that turned me on that day–"

He shivered as her hot breath wafted over his ear.

"– it was you."

"Well, in that case…"

They grinned foolishly at one another as he broke into a run, and the sound of their laughter followed them into the bedroom and beyond.

End

A/N: I cannot believe how long it took me to complete this story from the first posting to the end but I thank those of you who wrote to me to let me know what you thought of it along the way as well as those of you who stuck it out from beginning to end. I appreciate your kindness. - emn


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